


begin the world over again

by callmearcturus



Series: The Hunters Initiative [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Avengers fusion, F/M, M/M, conclusion of trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 97,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome back to the clusterfuck. Regime changes, the return of an old enemy, and the name of a dead man that won’t stay dead. Vacation’s over; this is where the wheels come off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cut your losses with a combat knife

**Author's Note:**

> This is the conclusion to the Hunter Initiative series. I've never been more anxious to tell a story and I hope you'll stick with me, gentle reader, and see how it all goes down.
> 
> Content warnings are linked [here](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/75977011164). By all means, check if you have major triggers, but if not don't look: they are spoilery.

It was not the first time Gus Sorola, BYTE Commander, had stood under the hot lights of the committee room and listened to his superiors harangue him for his apparent mistakes.

It was, however, the last time.

He found it intensely unfair how the bright, conical light shone down on him like something out of a noir film’s interrogation room. Intimidation tactics. They would probably be more effective used on someone who didn’t use the same tactics himself, but far be it from him to imply that his superiors were any better at their job than he was.

“The Hunters Initiative is a failure, publicly and privately,” one modulated voice said.

“Not officially,” Gus said.

“It’s official now,” they replied. “If we continue to fund it like it’s a viable project, BYTE will become more of a laughing stock. Dr. Pattillo has moved back to Austin with his fiancee. The Ramseys’ support has been non-existent. You never secured Mogar beyond giving him a communicator and a credit card he has made _ample_ use of.”

“Wrangling a group of people like that was always a pipedream,” Gus pointed out. “The idea wasn’t to have them on tap at all times, just when we needed them.”

“That was not the proposal.” Another modulated voice spoke up. “What you have set up is a glorified APB system.”

Gus was about to continue, to explain how fucking _impossible_ it was to keep leashes on people who were by definition more powerful than any tether BYTE could create, be it hook or crook or blatant blackmail, when to his right, Captain Haywood said, “If I may, sir or ma’am?”

There was a tinny rustle as the shadowed figures on the other side of the video feeds moved together, like a bird resettling its wings. “Captain. Your insight is always welcome.”

It was years of practice maintaining the same cold, vaguely pissed off expression that kept Gus from rolling his fucking eyes. Captain Haywood had been a rogue element since he came out of deep freeze three years ago. The man had never been anything but helpful and at Gus’ disposal except every time Gus wanted to actually dispose of him; he was always around, always listening, always ready to offer his expertise and no-nonsense brand of problem solving.

He was admirable in a lot of ways, and Gus knew any other person would consider it a privilege to work with a national treasure like Ryan Haywood.

That didn’t stop Gus from holding his breath, bracing himself as Haywood stepped up.

“BYTE never had the capability to earn the trust of the potential candidates for the Initiative. RIght from the get-go, using old world tactics on the Ramseys gave Mr. Ramsey a _powerful_ hate of us.” He put a hand on his breast, over the chestplate of his armor, the patriotic regalia that Gus rarely saw him out of. If he learned that Haywood slept in his suit, Gus wouldn’t be surprised. “And I am, admittedly, an old world guy.”

“Excuse us a moment, Captain, Commander,” one voice said, and the room went silent, even the background hum from the microphones going out, revealing a layer of true quiet underneath.

Haywood looked to Gus and smiled. “We’ll get this sorted out.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Gus said sourly, and frowned. Haywood grinned back with a soft exhale that sounded like the start of a laugh. He did that a lot, like Gus’ annoyance was something amusing to him. Asshole.

When the council addressed them again, they said, “Captain, we would like to have a word with you. Commander, you’re dismissed.”

Being sent out of the room was demeaning, but fuck, he was ready to leave. Better than stand there and listen to more cooing over Haywood or more shit about how the Initiative was a failure and BYTE was a money sink. Call the fucking papers, inform FOX News, they could do yet another segment on it. The usual stories about how relying on superpowered aliens was the worst national security mistake of the time and another piece about BYTE Agent Hullum’s _hilarious_ tale of securing a restraining order instead of a meeting with the Ramsey family.

Gus knew why the Initiative failed. It just wasn’t the sort of reason his superiors would understand. You needed a soul for that.

Gus Sorola had one, despite all evidence to the contrary. He’d ran BYTE for years now, longer than the program had even been public for, and he hadn’t sold his soul yet.

None of that mattered at the end of the day and whatever quiet sense of perspective Gus maintained over the Council didn’t mean shit after Haywood emerged from the meeting room a few minutes later. His head was bowed low, and he looked concerned.

“Are we done then?” Gus asked. “I want to make headway on getting those liaisons set up around the the Pacific.”

Haywood shook his head slowly. He blinked once, seeming dazed, before saying, “I was just promoted.”

“Oh. Well. Congratulations.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to talk to Denecour about our information sources in the area--”

“I’m BYTE Commander,” Haywood continued softly, his cool eyes settling on Gus’.

“What?” The idea chilled his bones. Already Haywood had made himself into a looming patriotic spectre, always _there_ as Gus tried to get work done. Having his unwanted second in command running the show with him would be a disaster.

There was a woman at the desk just outside the meeting room, and over Haywood’s shoulder, Gus saw her put a hand to her ear, receiving a message. She looked at Gus, nodding, and said, “Commander, the Council would like to see you again for a moment.”

So that was how they were going to do it. Gus narrowed his eyes at Haywood, who covered his mouth with one hand, exuding more boyish charm than a man of his size and stature should be allowed. Muffled so, he explained, “I just told them a few ideas I had about BYTE and they…”

“Right. Of course they did.” There was nothing for it. Gus had built BYTE with his own hands and time and blood, watched it warp and tarnish over time, its lofty ideals cut down more and more. If Haywood wanted the deed to that mess, then best of luck to him.

Squaring his shoulders, Gus stepped around Haywood and back into the meeting room, up to the bright spotlight, ready to face the music.

 

* * *

 

Years of work should have left a larger mess to pack up, but as Gus settled into his office to dismantle his presence from BYTE Tower under the deliberately negligent supervision of Agent Tuggey, he found it was over all too quickly. He wasn’t much for decorations or personal effects; he’d simply hung his commendations behind him, where they’d be most intimidating, and kept his desk clear. It might’ve been a sign of the ages, that it took a grand total of ten minutes to set aside his effects to be sent to his home, but an hour to clean the computer. He backed up the files he was meant to take with him, squirreled away the ones he wasn’t meant to maintain access, and built a few back doors, redundancy over redundancy like a cybernetic layer cake.

He didn’t know whether he’d use the damn things except out of bored nosiness. He wasn’t just fired from BYTE, he was _fired_. Not reassigned to another project, as was the custom when a high-level figure screwed up, not asked for his resignation, but _fired_.

Gus could take a hint.

“No one is expecting you to take this lying down, sir,” Agent Tuggey said. She was propping up the wall next to Gus’ desk, watching as he got ready to leave. She said nothing through Gus’ security hacking, not even bothering to avert her eyes.

“According to the Council, I’ve been doing nothing but lying down on the job,” Gus said.

“We know that’s not true.”

Gus fixed Tuggey with a hard, level stare over the rim of his glasses. It was the sort that made the newer agents avert their gaze and sometimes have a minor meltdown, but Tuggey was one of the best. She met it, and Gus let himself have some hope for BYTE’s future. “The Council thinks that I killed my own career. That I fired the shot way back when I ordered Ramsey-Free taken into custody, and it’s just taken this long to hit. They think Captain fucking America is the answer to all our prayers.”

Crossing her arms, she nodded solemnly. “That’s the word around the bullpen. But?”

His lips twitched upward at the obvious prompt. “They’re asking who the hell can pull so many overpowered primadonnas together. It’s the wrong question.”

Tuggey leaned in, her hands on the desk, ready to have this wisdom imparted.

Timing and shit luck would have it that Captain Haywood knocked politely on the door and let himself in. “Gus, hello.” Gus snorted softly; he wasn’t even out of the building and Haywood already was dropping the title. He was a civilian now, apparently. “Agent Tuggey, I need you for something.”

“Yes, sir?” She straightened, but didn’t move from Gus’ side.

Haywood smiled in that strange way that was bright and open but empty. “It’s a classified matter, I’m afraid. Come with me.”

Tuggey glanced back at Gus, who nodded. “Later,” he promised.

The two of them filed out without another word, and Gus tried very hard not to give a shit. Whatever Haywood had planned, whatever his big impressive changes to BYTE would be, they didn’t concern Gus anymore.

It was practicality and self-awareness, which Gus had never lacked in his life. He knew it was his time, even though two more of his best and brightest came to convince him otherwise.

“Are we sure if this is a legal maneuver?” Agent Luna asked. He’d bounded in, as full of energy and restless as ever, boosting himself up onto a filing cabinet, his hair barely brushing the ceiling. It was ingrained in him to seek high ground now; walking with his feet flat on the floor was probably unnatural to him. “I mean, just pulling the plug on us like that?”

“It’s not on _us_ ,” Gus told him. “It’s on me. And don’t fucking use that metaphor for losing my job.”

“You’ve been running BYTE forever! A regime change at this point, it’s…” Luna whistled softly.

“I’ve seen regime changes,” Agent Denecour said. He’d taken over for Tuggey in her wall leaning. “This isn’t an outsider being brought in to overhaul the system. It’s Captain Haywood. He’s one of us.”

Luna glared. “Whose side are you on?”

“Miles.” Gus held up his hand. “Don’t.”

Denecour nodded, offering Gus a wan smile. “I am sad to see you go, Commander. I don’t wanna seem mean, you know.”

“You’re adaptable, it’s what we pay you for,” Gus agreed. “You’re BYTE agents, not Sorola’s Angels.”

Luna snickered as Denecour turned, miming holding up a gun and cocking his hips in one of the classic poses. “No. Sadly, not,” he then said. “That doesn’t mean we need to be… estranged.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to forget who built this place,” said Luna.

“Oum Designs?”

“Shut up, Caleb.” With an eyeroll, Luna dropped down from his perch. “Seriously, Commander…”

Before Agent Luna could make a scene, something Gus really just didn’t want to deal with, Denecour put a quelling hand on his shoulder and said. “We’ll see you, sir.”

Gus Sorola had a soul, that was true. Whether he had a heart was up for debate. If he did, he might have watched Luna and Denecour leave, and smiled to himself faintly, the sting of fresh failure easing.

Regardless, he only lingered a few more minutes before clicking off his lamp and showing himself out. Beyond the tall glass doors of the BYTE Tower, it was raining, the blue sky treating New York City to a midday sun shower.

It felt like a mixed omen to Gus.

 

* * *

 

While he expected his people to make good on their intentions to keep in touch, Gus was not expecting that so soon. He had enough time to go home, stare blankly at the wall for an hour, and go back out for food supplies. He hadn’t made his own dinner in so long, it was interesting in a nostalgic way to cook pasta and layer meat and cheese before sliding a dish of would-be lasagna into the expensive but practically unused oven.

His experiment in food was waylaid when Agent Tuggey let herself into the house, kicking the door shut behind her. She stomped through the house heavily, calling, “Don’t say _anything_ yet.”

Gus climbed out of his chair to meet her. “What the hell, Tuggey?”

She made a zipping motion with her hands, eyebrows giving some fierce, silent directions as she put her suitcase on the coffee table and opened it. Inside was a portable EMP device that she powered up and set off in short order.

Everything in the house went dead; the lights, the TV, the router, and oven. When Gus pulled it from his pocket to look, he saw his phone was dead as well. “Okay. Lindsay.”

Tuggey shut her briefcase. “So Captain Haywood is out of his fucking mind.”

“Jesus, it’s the first day,” Gus snapped peevishly. “Not even, yet! How much can one man fuck up our operation in one day?”

Tuggey laughed, hard and humorless. “You’d be surprised.”

There was something about her, how all the wryness was missing from her, traded for a stiff stance in the middle of his living room. It made Gus smother his annoyance and do something nice for once; he went to the liquor cabinet and grabbed two glasses, pouring out whiskeys. One he kept for himself.

The other, Tuggey slammed back like she was still in college, pulling a face but otherwise swallowing without complaint. “So! Captain Haywood needed me this afternoon to help familiarize him with BYTE’s long-term holding procedures. He needed to know the process to bail someone out.”

That was unusual. Long-term holding for a service unique to BYTE, provided to keep the most dangerous of beings away from the public. The containment procedures used were extensive enough that just the _idea_ of removing something from the system was foreign to Gus. It’d take days, and that was after the hearings and paperwork and processing. It wasn’t the place for useful prisoners; it was the place for the monsters they couldn’t put down.

“Who?” It was the only question of importance.

Tuggey grinned, brittle and more nervous than Gus had ever seen her. “Narvaroth. He wants to talk to Narvaroth.”

“What? Why? What _possible_ fucking purpose could that serve?” Narvaroth, one of the worst beings to cross BYTE’s radar, who was the final impetus to get the Initiative going. A self-proclaimed god from another world with a resume that put every other villainous entity to shame. He was the dark, patina-covered ruined side of a coin, the other side being the benevolent electric alien, Mogar. After Mogar had helped BYTE get ahold of Narvaroth, they put him in the deepest, darkest hole they had, away from prying eyes and potential victims.

Narvaroth had also been Agent Ray Narvaez for a few months, a fact that poured salt and lime juice and other caustic substances on the wound Gus carried around. They’d almost lost BYTE Tower and Dr. Ramsey-Free thanks to fucking Narvaroth.

He wasn’t exactly on the list of Gus’ favorite people.

Tuggey sat down heavily on Gus’ sofa and held out her glass. As Gus refilled it, she said, “He wouldn’t say. But I can’t think of anything good.”

They both drank in silence for a moment, mulling it over. _Narvaroth_. Shit.

“Maybe he has a plan,” Tuggey said quietly.

“You wouldn’t have shown up in my house, knocked out my power and told me all this if you thought that.”

“No, I wouldn’t’ve.” She looked at him, face mostly in shadow in the light-less living room, just the streetlamps outside illuminating her. It made her look older, harder. “What’s _our_ plan?”

He was touched. After all of BYTE’s set-backs and the negative press and the hanging specter of not doing _enough_ , he still had his people. Gus had no idea how he’d earned that sort of loyalty.

“Lindsay. Why was the Initiative a failure?”

Her eyes were wide. “Sir?”

“It was a failure. Let’s just admit that. Why?” Slowly, she shook her head. That was fine; it seemed only Gus understood this. “We were never needed. The Iron Man program happened without us. Dr. Pattillo harnessed his powers for good before we were there to help him. Mogar was chasing down Narvaroth before we got the Initiative rolling.” He sighed, tired, about as weary as would be expected when you lived for your job for years on end. “We’re not the big hitters. At best we’re their support people.”

Her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. “Are you suggesting we wait for them to save us, sir?”

“No. No, we’re not gonna sit on our damn hands.” He reached out, took the glass from her. “You are going to go back to BYTE. You’re going be be the best fucking second in command to Haywood as you can be. Or if he doesn’t want you, make sure it’s Denecour. Someone we trust. Find out what the Captain has planned. We need to know everything.” Standing up, he walked to the kitchen, setting the glasses on the counter before coming back. “We’re not gods or superpowered creatures. We need to do things our way.”

She nodded. “Access the situation. Defuse it from the inside. Make it go away before anyone gets hurt.”

“That’s what BYTE’s for,” Gus said. “We’re not the flashy heroes. We’re the demons of bureaucracy, and we’ve got our own claws.”

“What’s that make you? The devil? Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Gus, you’re our favorite.”

He didn’t smile and pointed to the door. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. Get out.”

Tuggey briskly hopped to her feet, grabbing her suitcase. “Yes sir, Commander.”

“I’m not your commander anymore,” he said.

“Okay,” she replied, clearly humoring him. She stayed just long enough to say, “I’ll be in touch,” before leaving as swiftly as she came.

Gus was alone in the dark as he waited for the power to return, left with whiskey and a half-cooked lasagna, and a lot to think about.

So much for his last day on the job.


	2. you bring the ocean, I bring the motion

Gavin’s bag hit the floor of the beach house, and his shirt immediately followed. It was already damp from sweat, the long sleeves unsuited for Florida in the summertime and its oppressive humidity. “Are there bevs in the fridge?”

Michael was getting the door behind him, looking unaffected by the heat even in his bomber jacket. There wasn’t so much as a flush over his cheeks, which Gavin found very unfair. “No. That’s what happens when you rent a place instead of going to a hotel. No bonuses. Do you need me to run out?”

“Balls to that, we’re going out for food and bevs. My throat’s like the bloody sahara right now.” It had been a long trip to the Keys from Oxfordshire, where the two of them had just been, visiting Gavin’s parents. Michael hadn’t met them yet and Gavin hadn’t seen his hometown in ages. It had been a strange, surreal experience, introducing his family to Michael. They had only know him by his stage name, Mogar the Thunderhead, and Gavin had a harsh reminder that most people saw Michael through the public lens, through his fights and his oft-questioned loyalties in news pieces.

After that, it’d finally been time to return to the States. Michael had promised Gavin the Keys, and it was time to collect.

Two weeks of rented beach-front real estate was just what Gavin was looking for. The open, airy house was right on the water and walking distance from shops and restaurants.

It was also summer, and Gavin was lacking the sort of clothes that demanded after so long spent in colder climes. The benefit of the Keys, though, was that Gavin could steal one of Michael's flannel shirts and wear it open. There were cheap plastic flip-flops in the bottom of one of the bags and Gavin still had a single pair of capri pants. It would do.

When he was ready, Michael was still in his travelling clothes. Gavin sighed and grabbed a hair tie, bundling his hair into a messy knot. "At least take off the jacket, love. It's at least 90 out there, you’ll scare the locals.."

Michael gave him a guileless look. "What if I want to scare the locals a bit?"

"Don't do it on our first night." Hair out of his face and heavy clothes swapped for something manageable, Gavin walked over to Michael, his flip-flops slapping the floor loudly. Michael gave them an annoyed look, like they were quickly going to get 'lost' in the unpacking process. Gavin already planned to make Michael carry him everywhere in retaliation. "You can stir up a storm for them later or something."

"Won't need to," Michael said, eyes taking on a distant look. "One's probably going to roll in..."

That _would_ be their luck, to finally get to the Keys and then have a storm. Gavin sighed and shook his head. "Worry about it later."

"Who said I was worried?" He grinned. "Come on, lets get you a _bev_ before you waste away."

"Oh, don't make it sound so dramatic."

The two of them walked into town, Gavin's fingers hooked into the ring of one of Michael's cuffs, his arm swinging slightly along with Michael’s. They arrived at the perfect time, before the summer vacationers came down and after the snowbirds returned to their homes up north. Avoiding the main Keys helped too; they found a nice open air bar with a menu posted by the door. Gavin decided he needed to try conch salad.

It was early enough in the day that the TVs were set to news instead of sports. As they waited for their drinks, Michael stared at one of the screens, drawing Gavin's gaze to look as well.

The set was muted, but the closed captioning was on, staid white-on-black words zipping up the screen rapidly as the people on screen talked. It was distracting, but eventually Gavin caught enough to figure out what Michael was so intent on.

The headline on the screen read: _CPT AMERICA MADE NEW BYTE CMDR, START OF “PARADIGM SHIFT” FOR BYTE_. Behind the text and the captioning was apparently an interview. Ryan Haywood was sitting there with his still-great jawline and a nice-if-cliche blue suit and red tie. He was smiling and nodding, mouth moving as he answered some sort of question.

“He looks good,” Gavin opined quietly. “I guess Sorola’s finally been sacked.”

Michael nodded. “I bet Geoff is throwing a fucking party about it.”

“No doubt.” The waiter brought them their drinks and Gavin picked up his glass, offering it to Michael. “To Captain Haywood, then?”

They clinked their glasses together and turned away from the TV and back towards each other, the news forgotten in the wake of each other’s presence.

 

* * *

 

The Keys were everything that Gavin had hoped for. They were in the right place for Gavin to indulge in walking around shirtless, skin baking golden in the sun. The drinks were great. They got the right ocean too, the water actually warm enough for Gavin to throw himself into with just swim shorts. He hadn’t minded wearing wetsuits the other times they’d visited the beach in their travels, but what he craved was salt water on his bare skin.

Michael was quieter than usual. He went with Gavin to the water and into the town, but he mostly watched Gavin make an idiot out of himself, smiling quietly. He wasn’t _distant_ or anything, so Gavin didn’t think there was some sort of rift between them he’d missed.

He still laid out their beach towels right next to each other and stretched out along Gavin’s side when he came back on shore after wearing himself out swimming. They dozed together, sheltered from sunburn by an umbrella, before rousing when Gavin’s hunger beat out his need for a midday kip.

It was relaxing, like one long sustained sigh that helped roll the weight off Gavin’s shoulders. He felt close to home, back in the sun and heat. No crises came up and Gavin let himself enjoy monopolizing Michael’s attention.

By the end of the week, they had a usual place for dinner. It was one of the bars right off the beach. The music wasn’t too loud, the food was _excellent_ , and the drinks were as varied and colorful as Gavin could hope for. He tried as many as he could, pointing at items on the menu at random or just telling the bartender a color and waiting to see if they could make something to match. It was a game, just as easy as everything about the Keys.

Gavin was finishing off crispy jerk chicken wonton things, washing down the kick of spice with what was best described as an alcoholic mint milkshake. He could feel himself hovering in the comfortable space between buzzed and drunk and stared down into his drink, contemplating that final leap.

It was tempting, but Gavin was a good boy and waited until he felt hands encircle his waist, a warm kiss pressed into a point high on his neck. He reached back, carding his fingers into Michael’s curls. “ _There_ you are. Have you been on the phone this whole time?”

Michael nodded, reaffirming his grip around Gavin and hooking his chin over Gavin’s shoulder, apparently settling in like that. Gavin couldn’t make himself mind too much as he caught the straw of his drink with his tongue and started draining his glass. “Mm, so that was…. god, ten minutes? You had a ten minute phonecall?”

“Was Geoff, checking in and making sure we’re going to swing by Austin soon.”

“Ten minutes!” Gavin pet Michael’s hair fondly. “You managed to not kill a phone for that long, I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Michael chided softly.

“I’m not, lovely, I’m really not! Good for you, talking on phones.” He sucked down more icy minty goodness. It was really very good; he hoped the bartender would give him the drink’s ingredients tomorrow. “‘M almost drunk, by the way.”

He felt Michael’s grin. “I can tell. You lose volume control when you’re drunk.”

“I do not!” Gavin stopped, reconsidered, then said again softer, “I do not.” Michael was laughing, and it was nice to have someone who enjoyed Gavin’s drunkenness as much as he did. Despite that, a thought hit Gavin out of the blue and he didn’t have the filter anymore to not say it aloud; “You’re rather clingy tonight. Are you all right?”

Michael stilled, and his hands clenched just a little bit on Gavin’s hips. He didn’t seem to realize he’d been holding Gavin close for a while, and he’d done it for most of the day. It didn’t bother Gavin, who never stopped getting a high off of someone wanting him like Michael wanted him.

“Do you want me to stop?” Michael’s voice was very flat.

“No, lovely, no no nooo. You’ve just been quiet and touchy and I want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.” He still held on though, his arms strong around Gavin, the line of his shoulder easy to lean against, supporting and possessive in a soft needy way that Gavin wanted to indulge and sway into, feeling that quiet attentiveness like it was passing between them by touch.

“Pay for my stuff, let’s go,” Gavin said suddenly.

“M’card’s still not working,” MIchael said, but backed away so Gavin could clamor to his feet, ready with a bracing hand when he relearned how to stand.

“Shame, that. Captain America likes us, maybe we can ask him for a new one.” The black card Michael had been given by BYTE had been a fun toy to play with as they travelled. Hotel rooms, opera tickets, coffees, winter coats-- all had been BYTE’s treat. It was nice while it lasted. It was just as easy for Gavin to pick out a large bill from his wallet and throw it down near the register. “Let’s go!”

“Too loud,” Michael reminded him, smiling as he lead Gavin out of the bar. Both hands wrapped around Michael’s, Gavin leaned heavily onto him, snickering at how unphased Michael was by his weight. “Do you want to fly back?”

“Nah. Naaah, walking is good. No rush.” He tucked his fingers into the ring of Michael’s cuff, holding on as he was lead down the street, back towards their rented house. “Michael.”

“What?”

“ _Michael_. You are beautiful.” Gavin snickered, stumbling into Michael a little. “In the moonlight.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Michael sighed, but his lips were twitching as he tried not to grin. His dimples were visible and Gavin kissed the one closest to him. “Gavin, I am not going to fuck you.”

Gavin squawked angrily, pulling back to glare at Michael. “All right, for one, I am _insulted_ you think I can’t say nice things about you without ultimate motives.”

“Ulterior?”

“Shut up.” Gavin poked his arm. “Two, _why not_?”

“You’re going to fall asleep!”

“I’m not!”

Michael rolled his eyes. “You _always_ do.”

“Prove it,” Gavin said, eyes narrow.

“Oh my god.” He sounded pained and amused, and Gavin knew he won this battle if not the war.

Before Michael even unlocked the door, Gavin was on him, kissing him soundly with a drunk’s wealth of easy confidence. Anyone else might’ve been knocked over by Gavin’s enthusiastic tackle, but Michael didn’t budge. Even when Gavin slung one leg up, around his hips, Michael just bent and picked Gavin up, one hand curled under his ass to hold him up. “Let me get the door--” Gavin licked along the line of Michael’s neck, humming happily as Michael finally got them inside the house, kicking the door shut again behind them.

Gavin bounced when he was dropped on the bed, looking up in time to watch Michael pull his shirt off over his head. The plane of his chest above his shorts was lovely and Gavin hurried to get his mouth on it. It was flat and soft from fuzz, and the lack of belly button had been odd once but Gavin hardly noticed anymore.

Michael pushed him back on the bed and pulled off his trousers and pants, tossing them to the floor before climbing up over Gavin and settling between his legs. Just the hint of that settled Gavin, his hand cupping Michael’s neck as Michael got comfortable on his stomach and nipped the curve of Gavin’s hipbone.

Gavin’s dick nudged Michael’s cheek, and Michael smirked at the soft sound Gavin made. He was Gavin’s _favorite_ though, as he didn’t tease, just turned his head and licked his shaft with full strokes of his tongue, working from the base to the tip before sucking Gavin down.

Toes curling, humming happily, Gavin lay back and took everything Michael gave him gladly, the sweet tease of suction and wet heat of his mouth. It was uncomplicated and wonderful, and when Michael laid his hand over Gavin’s belly, Gavin twined their fingers together before tossing his head back, moaning.

Coming was as easy as a choked exhale. Michael stayed on him a moment, kept pressing the curl of his tongue to Gavin’s cock until Gavin whinged and nudged him off.

When he curled up on his side, resting his eyes and enjoying the endorphins and the buzz, he heard Michael chuckle. “See? This is why we don’t fuck when you’re tipsy.”

“Wha?” Gavin blinked open his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing, babe, don’t worry. Go to sleep,” Michael said, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down Gavin’s leg.

Oh, _Michael_. Gavin pushed himself up on an elbow and rolled over. “No no, you can--”

“I’m fine, thanks.” As if to prove it, he climbed over Gavin’s body, pressed against his back and pushed him down into the bed. His shorts were still on, and Gavin couldn’t feel the bulge of his tentacle. He might’ve still been sheathed.

Gavin tried to rub back against him, and Michael just wrapped an arm around him, tipping them onto their sides. “Oh, lovely boy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Gavin, shh.” He kissed Gavin’s shoulder before hooking his chin there, like he had before at the bar.

They were on top of the sheets still, but Michael’s body warmed around him until he was cozy. “Still,” Gavin murmured, shutting his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” He nudged a heel against Michael’s leg, then stopped because it was too much effort. “After a nap.”

“You’ll sleep ‘til noon.”

Gavin felt a tug against his scalp and his hair falling loose as his tie was pulled free. He huffed out a laugh; Michael’s face tucked against his neck, breathing deeply where Gavin probably smelt of ocean water. It was a small gesture; Michael liked Gavin’s hair, liked twisting it between his fingers idly and gripping it in a tight fist at choice moments and just carding his hand through it. So Gavin left it a little long. He didn’t have anyone to please but himself and Michael anyway.

It was worth the vanishing ties and the suddenly necessary brush for nights like this, when he fell asleep with Michael playing with his hair.

 

* * *

 

Into their second week in the Keys, they became enough of regulars at their chosen bar that the bartender asked, “So, what are you boys running from down here in the Keys?”

She was nice and told Gavin how to make some really great drinks when he asked about them. She also didn’t give a second glance when Michael would hook his chin over Gavin’s shoulder, which he appreciated a lot. That more than alcohol loosened his tongue. “Running? Who said we were running?” He smiled, propping his face up in his palm. “We’re travellers. Me, I’m a stormchaser.”

Next to him, Michael coughed and turned to hide his face in his glass.

“Well, Mr. and Mr. Stormchaser,” she said with a smirk. “I was going to warn you that a tropical storm’s on its way in, but I imagine that’s fine with you? Otherwise you best get to the mainland before landfall.”

That did provide a curious problem for them. Two years was a long time to spend in Michael’s company, and Gavin had learned a few things about him in that time. Michael liked musicals more than any other kind of movie. When he drank enough, his slick became slightly alcoholic. He liked knitting. When he got sick, he turned a pale green color.

And when a storm rolled in, a _natural_ storm that Michael’s explicit command or presence had nothing to do with, it _affected_ him.

“No, no. Storms are fine,” Gavin said, biting his straw between his teeth and tipping Michael a grin.

Michael met his gaze, lifting his eyebrows in question. Gavin waggled his back, and laughed when Michael flushed.

Gavin took his fun where he could get it. A beautiful opportunity rolled in on the trade winds, a storm strong enough that the few tourists in the area made for Florida proper, storm windows were shut tight, and the supermarket was suddenly cleaned out of bottled water, batteries, and (for some reason) bleach.

The exact reason was lost on Gavin, but as the storm approached, Michael changed. There was a tenseness in his shoulders. He grit his teeth and breathed hard out his nose, fingers tapping against anything they touched, like he was humming with impatience. When Michael got angry, he got loud. This was a quiet simmer that had him tossing and turning in bed each night.

“What does it feel like?” Gavin had asked at 3AM when Michael’d gotten up to pace for a few minutes before returning to bed.

“A swelling. Like a balloon that you know isn’t just gonna pop, so you have to…” He had swung his arms, bouncing a bit on his toes. “Find a release.”

Gavin knew the release Michael needed. He’d helped him with it before and enjoyed the process thoroughly. There was an anticipation that hung in the air between them as the weather turned bad and the wind picked up, howling outside the house as rain pelted the windows and roof. Neither of them said anything about it, just traded looks across the room as Michael bristled and grew flushed, eyes starting to gleam with an internal light. He looked like something wild, and Gavin could hardly keep from touching him.

But he was waiting for it. The cue. He wasn’t sure what it would be, only that he’d know it when Michael’s tension grew too much for him to handle. He could feel it, like a knot in his own gut, growing as the sound of the rain drowned out everything else in the house.

The power flickered out, taking the movie they were watching (or, pretending to watch, like some weird cinematic foreplay) with it. Michael continued to stare at the TV for a moment, face a blank mask. He got up from the sofa, and Gavin followed, his heartbeat coming in faster.

He meant to say something soothing for Michael, but it was lost as Michael leaned against the wall, his hands spread wide, his forehead resting against it. The muscles in his shoulder bunched and released in starts, and Gavin was careful as he reached out, curling his hand over Michael’s bicep.

There wasn’t time to pull back. Michael pulled Gavin in, closing him into the circle of his arms and tucking his face into Gavin’s hair, sucking in a sharp breath. “Gav, I…”

Gavin smiled and wrapped both his arms around Michael’s neck, squeezing his shoulders and arching against him, rising up onto his toes to press flush. “It’s all right, love. Don’t tie yourself up into more knots.”

Michael bit his neck hard, letting out a muffled moan as he did. His hands twitched, clenched and unclenched. “You make everything so much sharper.” He inhaled heavily behind Gavin’s ear. “Harder.”

“Mmhm?” Gavin grinned, then yelped when Michael’s hand swatted his arse. “Oh, don’t be like that. Come on. You won’t hurt me, now stop hurting yourself.”

Michael moaned again, a long thin sound. His face nuzzled against Gavin, dragging in deep breaths. “Can’t decide… if you’re the angel on my shoulder or the other one.”

“Time to find out,” Gavin said and canted his hips into the touch as Michael’s hand ran down his side and under his boxers. It was too warm in the Keys for more clothes than that and it helped when he absolutely needed to get naked as fast as possible.

For all the tension built up in Michael, he started off slow. Pushing their pants down, he wrapped slickly around Gavin’s dick, tendrils winding and squeezing fluidly, coaxing Gavin to hardness. His hips moved, grinding in a steady circle, urging Gavin to meet him. It was careful friction, nothing else for a while, his arms braced on the wall around Gavin’s head, gaze low, watching where they touched.

Curling a hand around his neck brought Michael’s eyes back to Gavin’s, and they were _beautiful_ , luminous in the dark and molten. Gavin kissed him with eyes open, unable to stop staring, distantly wondering if Michael’s people could ever hypnotize someone because in that moment, he felt taken in, everything in his life muffled except for the need to touch and gasp into open-mouthed kisses. The storm was suddenly a far away memory in the wake of Michael’s eyes and his tongue dragging over Gavin’s lower lip. Only the pressure pushing down on them both remained.

Gavin had never felt anything like it, didn’t know where the sensation came from, except perhaps pushed through Michael’s skin and into his. It didn’t strike him as too far-fetched as he groaned and reached down to grip Michael’s tentacle, stroking it until it was slick in his hand. It pushed through the circle of his fingers, stretching his grip slowly wider, the pantomime hitting him with a wave of lust. “Bed. Michael, _bed_.”

Michael shook his head and, like Gavin would try and get away to the bedroom himself, lifted him up, against the wall with both hands cupping his arse. Gavin’s head thumped backward, a stunned gasp escaping him as he felt them tangle together, wet tendrils and legs around Michael’s waist and Gavin gripping the back of Michael’s shirt in a tight fist. “O-oh, oh _god_.”

The first one was easy, unraveling slowly out of Gavin under the attentions of Michael’s tendrils. Feet off the ground, pinned to the wall, there was nothing to do to speed the pace and he came like that, the whole thing taken care of for him.

The second left him ready to crumple to the floor; Michael moved them so Gavin had his elbows braced, cheek pressed to the wall as he was jerked off at a steady, relentless pace, Michael’s wet bulges pressed to the small of Gavin’s back, shifting and rubbing hot against his skin, the sound so loud and obscene it made Gavin hide his red face against his arm. He peaked with a hitched sob and shaking legs, relying on Michael to hold him up.

He didn’t, for the record, but lowered Gavin down gently, settling on the rug with him before drawing him in. Gavin sat on Michael’s lap and kissed him messily, overwhelmed and shivering as Michael palmed his sides, shoulder, hips, hands restless. His dick was too sensitive to touch but Michael was uniquely equipped to work around that problem: his tentacle ground up against Gavin, between his cheeks and rubbing against his perineum, nudging his balls until Gavin was scratching down Michael’s arms and whining, tiredly trying to shift his hips closer, away from the touch, back in when Michael teased him.

He shuddered, tired but desperate for it, and Michael kissed his cheek. The dissonance between that bit of sweetness and the way his orgasm tore out of him left him dizzy, clinging to Michael like an anchor.

“Got you, got you,” Michael said. Gavin wrapped both his arms around his neck, tucking his face in. His whole body shivered when Michael’s hand ran up and down his spine. “Shush…”

Gavin slumped, laying his whole body’s weight against Michael, drinking in every soothing pet of Michael’s hands as he caught his breath. He felt wrung out, as though someone could throw him in the water outside and he’d soak up the entire gulf. “Fuck,” he said, sighing deeply.

“You’re so good, babe,” Michael told him, leaning back, palming Gavin’s legs as they were folded around his waist. Gavin swayed where he sat, returned with all the inevitability of gravity to watching the light of Michael’s eyes.

He had no idea how long they sat there on the floor, but it was long enough that he could eventually hear over the sound of his pulse the storm was still raging, rain buffeting against the shuttered windows.

With a shaking hand, Gavin brushed his bangs out of his face. “Why did you stop?”

Michael still had that far off expression to him, but his eyes were keenly focused on Gavin’s face. “What do you mean?”

“You. You’re still all in knots, love.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re _not_ , I can feel it.” Deep in his gut, like a phantom of Michael’s own turbulence. “Michael.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I _want_ to.” Gavin kissed the reluctant frown curving along Michael’s lips. “You’ve not worn me out yet.”

“I did, a bit,” he pointed out.

“And now I’ve had a breather.” He kissed him again when he opened his mouth to counter, working his tongue in to curl around Michael. Michael hummed, fingers tightening around Gavin’s hips as he warmed to the idea, kissing back. Gavin smiled and pulled away: “Show me what you’ve got, Michael Jones.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed, chided. He took his time, leaning in to bite Gavin’s collarbone and nose into his chest, settling to drag his wet lips around a nip, making Gavin hiss softly when he felt a scrape of teeth.

“Tell me what you want,” Gavin demanded, because he could feel Michael’s simmering frustration, how he was trying to squash it, and he refused to let that happen.

Michael stilled, the rush of his exhale fanning over wet skin and making Gavin shiver. “Your mouth. I want your mouth.”

Clambering out of his lap, Gavin said, “Sofa.” Michael got up, kicked off his jeans and briefs where they clung to his ankles, and collapsed onto it. “Give us a pillow then.” Gavin knelt in front of Michael, taking one of the throw pillows he was offered and tucking it under his knees.

Michael reached to tug Gavin’s hair loose of its tie, letting out a hard breath as the knot came undone and his hair fell softly around his face, the longest strands just barely skimming against his shoulders. Bowing his head, Gavin let it hang, smiling as Michael slowly tucked his hand into it, brushing it behind one of Gavin’s ears.

He was less gentle when Gavin offered his mouth up to eager tendrils, letting them slide in and wrap around his tongue. Michael’s hand bunched in Gavin’s hair, pulling him closer. It was as demanding as Michael ever got, when he took Gavin by the hair, and it was one of the reasons Gavin couldn’t bear cutting it short again.

He flexed his tongue as the tendrils wrapped around it, taking in all he could fit as Michael’s tentacle rubbed against his cheek, against the grain of his stubble. As soon as he got used to the sweet taste, Michael pulled him away, ignoring his whine at the unforgiving grip, and busied him with his tentacle. He thumbed along Gavin’s lower lip and fed the bulge into his mouth, making him groan. The taste was long familiar to Gavin and he didn’t need much encouragement to relax his jaw as much as possible, letting it fuck in and out, filling his mouth and sliding against the inside of his cheeks.

Michael panted as he fucked into Gavin, first with some measure of restraint but soon it was cast aside. The fullness of Gavin’s mouth gave him an acute awareness of how empty he was elsewhere. There was enough translucent purple slick dripping from Michael’s tentacle that some of it was pushed out along the corner of Gavin’s mouth. It was easy to catch some off his chin, wetting his fingers before reaching back.

The pads of his fingers rubbed at his arse, wetly catching against the hole. Two went in easily, just enough so he could feel the press and could start to stretch himself. The angle wasn’t great for more than that, but having the presence of his fingers there helped the ache in him. He moaned around Michael, shifting his hips into a better position.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Michael said low and intent before pulling Gavin off. Gavin coughed, surprised, eyes fluttering back open. His mouth felt sore and wet, and he rubbed his free hand along his jaw to wipe away the wetness. That was all he had time for before Michael was sliding off the sofa, shoving the coffee table out of the way and turning Gavin over onto his hands and knees. “Like this, let me.”

His fingers were in the way of Michael’s tentacle, and it tried to push in alongside only to find it too tight. Michael grunted, annoyed, and Gavin obligingly removed his fingers so he could slide in. Gavin was normally quiet during sex but the heat and the stretch and the way his head spun from the pressure of the storm pushing down on him, it had him crying out, fingers digging into the carpet. It was intense, Michael’s weight pressed along his back as he fucked him.

It felt fucking amazing, so much that it threatened to overwhelm him. A sharp gasp punched out of him with every thrust of Michael’s hips and feeling empty was _not_ a problem anymore. Gavin felt like he was being fucked up into his fucking lungs, the push and slick slide making him sob, it was so good. He felt Michael’s breath against his ear, but he couldn’t make out whatever it was Michael was saying to him over the rush of it.

But he felt it when Michael nudged his knees wider apart and worked somehow _deeper_ , making Gavin come with a sudden shock of pleasure.

After that, his arms didn’t want to hold him up anymore. Gavin was glad the rug was fairly soft, as his face mashed into it, muffling his moans as he crumbled down, shoulders against the ground as Michael continued to fuck him. There was no pause in the rhythm of his hips, something relentless and wild taking Michael over. Gavin just took it, pressing his mouth to his forearm to muffle his noises, embarrassed and turned on by the sounds he made.

Eventually, one of Gavin’s legs gave in, and they both listed to the side. “Sorry, sorry, keep-- keep on, please,” Gavin babbled, trying to push back up onto his arms.

“Hang on… Here, c’mere,” Michael panted, hooking his arms around Gavin’s chest. He slipped out of Gavin, making Gavin thrash and curse, and lifted him.

“I can’t,” Gavin started, hoping Michael wasn’t expecting him to move to the bed or something because his legs had forgotten they were legs.

Michael-- brilliant, impossible, clever Michael-- didn’t move them far, just laid Gavin over the arm of the sofa. His hips were tipped up, his body bonelessly laid out over the cushions. He wriggled around, pleased and lazy, looking for the most comfortable spot. The throw pillow he’d knelt on was within his reach and he drew it up, wrapped both arms around it and nuzzled, skin alight and desperate for touch.

It was perfect, and Gavin had something to bite as Michael slide back into him, hands squeezing his hip and arse as he fucked Gavin again. It was easy but felt lovely, Gavin’s toes curling as the tentacle tried to work its whole length into him. He’d never felt so broken down and good, his whole body made of a teetering mix of afterglow and arousal. He didn’t think he could come again, but there was something different going on, a sustained hum of pleasure. He didn’t know what to do about it and just moaned softly and panted with every push of Michael’s hips into him.

He could have slept, worn out and already dreamy with that weird hum. His eyes closed, lashes fluttering, drenched in that exquisitely good feeling. Michael was still fucking him, though, and Gavin didn’t want to give him the wrong impression by having a kip, especially after something so nice.

When Michael came, it was abrupt; he gripped Gavin’s shoulder with one hand and used it as leverage to get deep in him one more time. Strange hard syllables poured out of his mouth, nothing that made sense to Gavin’s ears though he could guess what Michael meant and agreed; it was a brilliant fuck.

The usual gush of slick didn’t come, but Gavin still felt full with Michael pressed into him so. The hollow sensation left as he slipped out made Gavin groan unhappily, but it passed gradually as they came down.

The rain outside was soft against the roof. The storm was past. Gavin had no idea how long it had lasted and wasn’t inclined to check. He wasn’t up for much more than drawing one leg up, planting his foot against Michael’s stomach and pushing himself further along the cushions, curling up there.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked, his hand rubbing Gavin’s flank.

“Mmhmm…. Probably gonna…” He waved a hand, too exhausted to say, _probably going to lay here and sleep for the next two days_. But that was indeed his plan. He felt _worn out_ , heavy and full like he’d never felt before.

“Are you sure? Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”

Gavin put up the enormous effort that it took to open one eye and look up at Michael. He was flushed, but the bright glow in his eyes had receded, the tension gone from his frame. He also looked a lot more awake than Gavin felt was fair after however long they’d fucked for. “Power’s out,” Gavin reminded him.

“I could fly inland. Pick up something.” He flashed a smile, boyish and sweet.

Gavin rolled his eyes, then shut them again. “You’re peckish now, aren’t you?”

“Fucking _famished_ , holy shit. I could eat, like, a grocery store right now.”

Gavin snorted. “Talk about your fuck and run… Remember to take m’card. Go eat.”

“I’ll bring you back something,” he said, apologetic, even as Gavin heard him fetch the credit card.

“Barbeque.”

“You want pulled pork?”

“Yes.” He thought about it, but slowly. Thinking fast took effort. “No. Ribs. Whole rack.”

“Okay. Beans?”

“Yes. And fried okra.”

“Okay.” Gavin felt Michael’s hand on his cheek, tilting his head up. They kissed, slow and languid, without Gavin even opening his eyes again. When Michael let go, his head flumped back to the cushions. “I’ll be back.”

“Mm.” Gavin fell asleep so fast, he didn’t hear Michael leave.

He didn’t hear him come back either, however long later. When Michael nudged him awake, he stayed conscious long enough to eat the okra, but even then only because he knew it would be gross later when it wasn’t hot. After, he pushed the rest of the takeaway across the coffee table and put his head back down, this time in Michael’s lap.

“Are you sure you’re fine?”

Gavin hummed a soft affirmative. His body was humming like a guitar string, feeling sated and full and happy from his toes to the end of his hair. When Michael put a hand in his hair, he could have purred.

Instead, Gavin shut his eyes and sank into the softest slumber he’d ever had as the trailing rain from the storm pattered against the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have in-universe and out-of-universe reasons for doing the long hair thing for Gavin, but I wasn't sold on the idea until [Ben did art of it](http://stretchmarxist.tumblr.com/post/74915796809). NSFW art at link and WARNING GAVIN IS VERY HOT WITH A LITTLE PONYTAIL YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
> 
> Oh and more [here](http://stretchmarxist.tumblr.com/post/73700178009). God, Ben. <3


	3. reading between the headlines

Geoff came home and found he wasn’t alone.

His phone, an RE custom device that was one of maybe ten in the world, gave him a quick alert as he pulled up to the gate, letting him know that someone was already in the house. The TV was on in the living room and the security system was pretty sure there was someone there.

Geoff had his suspicions. He was fairly certain whoever had gotten in wasn’t an enemy but that didn’t stop him from slapping on a small mobile generator and a gauntlet before walking in through the front door.

Two years was a long time to be away from home. Not that Geoff didn’t understand the why behind the decision and respect it, but it was still a long time to go without seeing your adopted son, enough to give you a second’s pause before long-unseen features resolved into something familiar.

It was a surprise that they didn’t call ahead. But an even bigger surprise was the state Gavin was in.

Geoff unlatched the mini-generator and tossed it on the coffee table, the gauntlet joining it. “Jesus dicks, you’re gone two years and you come back a fucking hipster?”

Gavin was in Geoff’s armchair, a duvet around him despite the summer crush of heat, his feet poking out. More importantly, his hair was long and bundled up into a knot near the top of his head. He gave Geoff baleful look. “Remind me, how many performance spaces and microbreweries do you and Griffon own in this city?”

Geoff grinned and walked over to Gavin, bending down to wrap his arms around him. He seemed at once smaller and larger than Geoff remembered, and hugged back tightly, holding on for a while, until Geoff’s back protested the weird angle and he straightened up.

“Where is she, by the way?”

“Overseeing stuff in the city.” The house let out a low tone, like a saxophone’s sigh, indicating that Gavin’s balcony door was open. “I was about to ask where Sparky was. Usually it takes a crowbar to get him to stop clinging to you.”

“Yeah…” Gavin winced and sunk back into the chair, slouching low.

Skipping the stairs in a casual glide, Michael joined them in the living room, a CVS bag in his hand. He looked the same as Geoff remembered, but they’d at least crossed paths on a few jobs in the last two years. “There you are. You wanna explain why you brought my kid back with hippie hair?”

Michael blinked. “I don’t know what that means.”

Of course he didn’t. Geoff sighed. “Well, welcome back. How was the honeymoon? I thought you kids were going to hit New Orleans before coming here?”

Gavin’s wince somehow deepened, lines marking his brow and around his face. This close, Geoff could see how drawn the kid looked. “That’s a long story.”

Michael snorted and dropped his bag on the coffee table, digging out one of those fruit juices with the soy and vitamins and shit, handing that and a pill bottle to Gavin. “Gavin got sick in the Keys. He’s been down since last Saturday.”

Gavin sighed. “Not that long of a story, fair.” He shook out two pills (anti-nausea, if Geoff recognized the bottle right) and took them with his drink, making a face as he did.

“Sick?” Geoff looked between them, the way Gavin was curled up and the way Michael watched him with cautious eyes, like he was waiting for something bad to happen. “Gavin lived with us for six years and had a cold twice. Since when does he get sick?”

Gavin shook his head, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Michael explained, “He was a fucking wreck for a while there. I mean, I wanted to bring him back here two days ago but he today was the first he was good enough to move.”

“M’fine now though,” Gavin pointed out mildly. “Coming out of it all right.”

“You’re still going to see Jack,” Michael said, and the fact Gavin didn’t argue with him was enough for Geoff.

“If you track some alien flu bug into this house, you’re fucking grounded,” he said, putting a hand in Gavin’s hair and ruffling it gently. “But welcome home, lad.”

 

* * *

 

Life had been weird without Gavin around. Ramsey Enterprises was a power player long before they discovered him and drew him into the fold, before the Iron Man Project was a twinkle in their eyes, but it was hard not to think back over their lives and assume Gavin had just always been there. It felt like he had been, anyway. In his absence, there had been a month or so of the ranch house feeling empty and still. It was when the design lab was repaired and operational again that Griffon had launched into motion, from stillness to full tilt in a day’s time.

There was work to do. Suit maintenance and work towards the Mk IX. Austinion to rediscover. R&D facilities to rebuild. Once they got into it, they were working around the clock, Geoff with keeping RE on course and sailing while Griffon handled getting everything back to where they needed it. It was hard to linger on Gavin’s absence when Griffon was in Nevada overseeing construction and Geoff was in New York in meetings.

The nights back at the ranch house with just the two of them at the table were when Geoff felt it, the lack of noise. The night Gavin and Michael came back was a return to something he’d missed.

As soon as she came home, Griffon pulled Gavin into a crushing hug, murmuring in his ear as they held onto each other and swayed in place. Letting Gavin go, especially after the fucking Extremis Incident, had been difficult for Griffon. Having him back made her smile wider, some of the hard lines of her body easing. Two years she had been as much machine as woman and the way she held onto Gavin was like a glimpse back in time.

“Too tight,” Gavin squeaked, and Griffon laughed, letting him go before rounding on Michael’ he tried not to look intimidated but instinctively stepped back as her attention settled on him.

“And _you_ ,” she said and hugged him too. “You brought him back in one piece. You get to live.”

Michael smirked and nodded against her shoulder before she let him go as well. “I appreciate that.”

Because the two chucklefucks didn’t bother to let Geoff know they were showing up weeks early, they ordered Chinese. Two full bags of hot food were dropped off at the door, and Geoff left the delivery girl a large tip before the family set up in the living room, plastic platters and folded white boxes covering the entire table. There were two kinds of lo mein and three kinds of rice, dumplings, egg and spring rolls, orange and general tso and sweet and sour chicken, egg drop and wonton soups, pepper beef and those sweet red spare ribs.

Gavin had the soup and some lo mein, curled up against Michael’s side and looking washed out. Geoff tried not to stare at him; he was going to see Jack tomorrow anyway. He’d be fine.

The TV was the background noise to them catching up. Gavin handed over his phone to Geoff, his photo album open, filled with pictures of half the fucking planet, it seemed. Geoff tapped through them, tracing Gavin’s steps through snapshots of mountains and landmarks and meals and what looked like a few photos taken mid-flight above some of the cities they’d stayed in. Most had Michael somewhere in frame, but a few were obviously taken by Michael, focusing on Gavin. Geoff quietly forwarded a few of those to his own phone, wanting copies for himself. Hopefully Gavin wouldn’t notice; the last thing Geoff wanted was to admit how much he’d missed him.

“You didn’t go look at the new lab?” Griffon asked Gavin, eyebrows lifted.

Pausing in his slurping of hot broth, Gavin shook his head. “Not yet. Pretty much came in here, sat down, and didn’t move for a while.”

“Jack will sort you out,” Geoff said, then held up his hands about a foot apart. “Needle this big, right in the butt. You’ll be right as rain.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Gavin grunted. “Don’t say that, it’ll really happen… Then, Nevada’s fine? What about Austin HQ?”

Griffon nodded, twirling lo mein around her fork. “All new security. Got the main lab pumping out Austinion-Adamantine. I’ve been working on the Arc Reactor. With the Austinion additions to it, it’s putting out more than we can even route. We could power every house and building from here to Buda, and that’s off the one. Once we have some numbers on long-term efficiency, we’ll get one going in the Nevada facility too.”

“Impressive,” Michael said softly.

Griffon grinned. “Is that from Mr. Advanced Alien Species?”

Michael nodded. “Yup. I mean, my people would still have you beat, but that kind of power is at least closer to what I was used to.”

“Small victories.” Griffon had a look in her eyes that made Geoff think she wanted to try again at the whole ploy of taking Michael out to get him drunk and hope he spilled his people’s technological secrets. Not that it’d worked the first two times.

It took a moment for Geoff to notice Gavin was staring intently at the TV. It would have annoyed him a bit, that Gavin’s attention was already sliding away from his family, but when he followed his gaze, he understood why and reached out to turn up the volume.

 

* * *

 

Arryn Zech, Chief Extraordinary Affairs Reporter, was sitting across from Captain Ryan Haywood in a very smart suit, leaning forward with her elbow on her leg, a professional but bold posture. “Thank you for being with us today, Commander Haywood.”

Haywood was all-American and handsome, like the hometown quarterback who had grown up to actually live up to his high school’s hype. His smile was white and inviting like a picket fence. “Please, call me Captain.”

“Do you not like your new title, Captain?”

“No, no, let’s not get off on the wrong foot here, please.” His smile widened, and his pink gums were perfect too. “No, but I think it’s important to keep in mind why I was put in charge of BYTE. I don’t want it to seem like I’m putting aside the Captain America mantle and taking up the BYTE Commander instead. I’m bringing my own brand of leadership to the agency, I hope.”

“That’s a clear statement of intent. Do you think the former leadership failed?”

The pause then was diplomatic as Haywood appeared to weigh his answer carefully. “The way I see it, BYTE was meant to be a symbol of safety. A light in dark times. I would say,” he said slowly, as though savoring each word, “they didn’t manage it before. But I plan to fix that and ask for the American people’s-- and the world’s, since BYTE is here for them too-- their trust.”

“Will you be using the Captain America image for that?” She tapped a pen against her knee, _tap-tap-tap_. “Do you think that’s why you’ve been placed in charge of a failing agency?”

“BYTE is not a failure,” Haywood said immediately. “It’s full of a lot of very talented, hard-working agents who have put measures in place to save a lot of people. They do good work, have _done_ good work for years.” He shook his head. “Captain America is obviously a powerful symbol, but it’s me. It’s my honor to carry that name, but it _is_ my name.”

She looked perplexed under her cool, level mask. “Do you walk down the street and wish you could go unrecognized? Do you miss being just Ryan Haywood?”

Without hesitation, Haywood said, “No. I understand this… symbol of America and its power. It’s a heavy burden and I don’t wish it on anyone. But it’s also a privilege to bear it on behalf of my country and for anyone who can be helped by it. The way I see it, if you’ll let me be so blunt, Ms. Zech, is that Ryan Haywood wouldn’t have survived being put on ice.” He let the gravity of that statement sink in a second. “It’s this solemn duty that kept me and helped bring me back.” He smiled again, the line of his mouth twinged with a deep sadness. “It’s a singular experience and I don’t expect everyone to understand. Captain America is a part of history and its an institution, but it’s also _me_.”

There was a stillness to the room after that statement, with Zech and Haywood holding each other’s gaze as the camera panned around them, emphasizing the dramatic moment.

Eventually, Zech nodded. “Could you talk about what you’re bringing to BYTE as its new commander? There’s been some criticism of your appointment. Some have called you an old soldier out of your depths.”

Haywood arched one eyebrow, a dark, sly look on his face. “It’s good to have people underestimate you. It’s an advantage, believe me. But-- this may be a bit of ego talking, I apologise, but I was chosen to be Captain America for a reason. It was discussed with me extensively. It’s not just a matter of a supersoldier serum, don’t let anyone tell you that. I can take most people in a back alley brawl, but the real power of being who I am is something more intangible. I plan to use my influence for the greater good.”

“You’ve said about your appointment that BYTE needs an ambassador.”

“More than anything,” he confirmed. “If BYTE had any failure, it was a failure to reach out. They made themselves monolithic. So many potential resources were lost because of pride or diplomatic missteps. BYTE has the potential to do more than just protect. It can be a leader in technology and innovation.”

Zech nodded. “And that’s where your rehabilitation program comes in?”

Haywood inclined his head, his smile soft and modest. “Have you met him yet?”

The footage cut to another interview, again with Zech. Instead of Captain America sitting across from her, there was a different man. Dark hair, thick expressive eyebrows, and eyes of gem-bright green. As the camera lingered over him, it flicked with static and slight discoloration. Across the bottom of the screen was an editorial note, apologizing for the dip in video quality.

“You were responsible for billions of dollars in damages to Manhattan three years ago and more in various incidents around the world,” Zech began. “Why should we trust you now?”

Narvaroth-- also known as Ray Narvaez according to the text under his face-- laughed, a sharp exhale of shock. “Oh, _man_ , right out of the gate, huh? You don’t mess around.”

“It’s the question on everyone’s minds.”

“No no, I get it, you’re right,” he agreed quickly. “What I did was awful and I-- my hope is that people will give me a chance to make up for my past crimes like Mogar is making up for his.”

Zech blinked, surprised. “Past crimes?”

Narvaroth nodded. “You guys know we’re not from around here. Like, uh,” he laughed softly. “Not this planet, even?” He held up a hand, flashing the Vulcan salute briefly. “Full on aliens, strangers in a strange land, all that. Back home, Mogar was a prince, and I was his… squire, you might say. Then he did something seriously bad, a crime against our people, so we were both banished to here.” He ducked his head, smiling sadly. “I… didn’t take that well, and humanity suffered because of my anger.”

“I had no idea, about Mogar. He’s been around years, I don’t think anyone’s managed to find out where he came from or why he’s here.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s hard to talk about.” He shrugged one shoulder, eyes downcast. “It’s a hard thing to live with, being thrown out of your home. I didn’t take it well. But…” He met Zech’s eyes again. “If people can find it in them to give me a _chance_ , like they did Mogar, I will use it. Our technology and knowledge are far advanced to yours and I think if you’re stuck hosting two sorry souls like us, we should _try_ to repay that.”

She nodded along. “You want to share knowledge?”

“Yeah, what I can. I’m no mage-- or scientist. Not one of the brightest of the Amaranthine people, but I can offer what I can.” His head tipped to the side. “I don’t know why Mogar hasn’t already shared what he knows. But we’re not exactly close anymore.”

“You think that’s enough after what you’ve done?”

Narvaroth bowed his head. “I can hope.”

The footage cut back to Haywood, answering some question with calm reserve.

“I can’t expect for opinions of BYTE to change overnight, but I am going to work to make the agency a point of pride for the American people and a beacon of hope for the world. We’ve lost too many allies, let too much slip out of our grasp because we were too proud or not bold enough, resources lost--”

“You’re talking about the Ramseys,” Zech said.

“Resources lost,” he repeated, but smiled ruefully. “We can rebuild this. We have a duty to do better and its within our reach.”

 

* * *

 

In the wake of the segment, there was a beat of shared, stunned silence in the room. It was broken when Gavin made a sound that was a cross between a gurgle and a burp. He lept up and dashed out of the room, down the hallway. “Gav!” Michael took off after him. Geoff could hear a door slam shut, water running, and, faintly, Michael asking Gavin to open the door.

Geoff’s attention was brought back by a growing heat along his side. Griffon’s body woke up with the smell of hot metal, her hands clenched and hot air radiating from her. By now, Geoff had some practice with Griffon’s Extremis situation and the many ways it manifested, was used to the heat enough that he could stand it for a while.

“I’m just going to say this,” Geoff said slowly. “Griffon, we can’t kill Captain America. That would be _bad_.”

She let out a hollow laugh, rubbing her face. “Geoff, he couldn’t have thrown us under the bus any harder without having a literal bus run us over.”

“We’ll figure it out. I’m pretty sure we can sue the shit out of them.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking at him with honey eyes. “Since when is Iron Man so into diplomacy?”

Geoff sighed out through his nose, hard, and nodded to Michael, who was meandering back into the room. He looked almost dazed, rubbing his arm, thumb digging in hard. “Gavin’s…”

“Sick?” Geoff offered.

“Yeah.” He lifted his eyes to the TV even as it showed only commercials. “That wasn’t good, huh?”

“You tell us,” Griffon said. “Narvaroth’s your area of expertise. Do we suit up?”

“No. Fucking hell, no, that’s…” He sat heavily on the arm of the loveseat he’d been sharing with Gavin through dinner. “Listen. I can’t… kill him.”

“I thought you had him outmatched.”

“Sorry. I _can_ kill him, like… I’m stronger than he is.” He shook his head in a grimace. There was a shadow across his face, dark as the storm clouds he trailed behind him wherever he went. “But I can’t do it. I grew up with him, okay? He was… I knew him since I was a baby, we were clutchmates and stuck together until…” He stopped for a long moment. “I let BYTE take him because I don’t know who else on this planet could hold him. Now BYTE _let him out_.” He looked to Geoff and Griffon. “What would you do?”

Geoff had brothers. He tried to imagine suiting up and turning his gauntlets on them. It was like trying to think through a brick wall, it was impossible. There were probably people in the world capable of that kind of shit, but Geoff wasn’t one of them and he knew Michael wasn’t either.

“You have to talk to Captain America,” Griffon said. “You know what a poisonous little shit Narvaroth is, you can tell him.”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s…” he dragged both his hands up and down his face, rubbing his mouth. “Least I could do. But I need to wait for now. With Gavin going to see Jack tomorrow…”

Down the hallway, a door clicked open and Gavin’s voice, shaking and weaker than Geoff had ever heard it, called, “Michael? Can you get me my toothbrush, love?”

“Yeah, coming.” Michael immediately set to it, fetching one of the bags they’d brought and carrying it off.

Alone again, Geoff dropped his head back against the sofa, thinking. He didn’t know how their family ended up this way, with this sort of specter hanging over them. Deep down, he was with Griffon: find the people who threatened the fragile peace they’d built and take them the fuck out with extreme prejudice. He remembered the way the thing in Manhattan had messed with Gavin, sending the kid spiraling into a sudden sharp depression. He remembered the way Heyman’s people had destroyed the sense of _this is my castle_ that hummed through the support beams and walls of the ranch house. The idea of losing anything again, it made a voice in the back of his head panicked, scared, and dangerous as dicks, muttering about missiles and repulsors with serious intent.

But Geoff Ramsey was the voice of fucking reason in the Ramsey-Free household and he knew it.

He felt Griffon’s grip on his wrist, her fingers warm. She drew his arm up and slipped under it, against his side before letting go. He wrapped his arm around her and shut his eyes. There were going to have to do something after Captain fucking America’s public shot at them, but it could wait five minutes as far as he was concerned.

Eventually, Gavin emerged again. He was held up by Michael and looked fucking terrible, eyes glassy and face clammy. “Sorry,” he murmured, climbing into the loveseat again and instantly sagging to the side, laying on its arm. Michael sat next to him, hand under his shirt and rubbing up and down his back soothingly. “What’s happening then?”

Griffon lifted her head. “Well. Our PR people are probably calling us right now. We have to fix shit. I think I’m going to call JJ.”

“How’s that help?”

“I think BYTE is going to have an internal leak about how they fucking kidnapped Gavin and held him against his will.” She poked one finger into Geoff’s side. “Do you still have the pictures of Gavin’s giant fuck-off needle marks in your Sorola hate folder?”

Geoff thought about it. “Probably, yeah. They’ll be in the back somewhere.”

“Perfect.” She shrugged out from under Geoff’s arm and got up. Before anything, she went to Gavin, brushing his hair back from his face and kissing his forehead. “Do you want me to call Jack? He’s local, he could come over.”

Gavin shook his head silently, looking as miserable as Geoff had ever seen him. “I’ll keep ‘til morning.”

“Okay. Get some rest.” She kissed him again before making for the stairs, likely to the upstairs office.

In her wake was quiet. Gavin held out a hand for one of the take-out boxes, and Geoff watched him eat fried rice without enthusiasm. The color looked leeched out of him, and Geoff thought for the hundredth about how satisfying it’d be to just _end_ BYTE’s bullshit. He’d been thrilled to hear about Sorola getting the axe, but somehow shit seemed more dire now than it had before. At least Sorola was just incompetent and the worst bureaucracy had to offer; Haywood was a whole new kind of beast.

He was finally privy to some of Michael and Gavin’s rapport. Michael waited until Gavin was finished eating before putting a supporting arm around his waist. “Done?” he asked in a whisper.

“Dunno what’s bloody worse. This-- _thing_ in my gut making me sick,” Gavin said, “or the way you fuss. Yeah, I’m done.”

Gavin’s complaining didn’t faze Michael at all. “Okay.” Michael pulled him to his feet, holding up his weight. “We’re going to turn in,” he said to Geoff.

Right, that meant, “I need to get you some bed stuff then. S’what happens when you don’t call ahead.”

Michael nodded. “Right. Sorry about that. I’m gonna get Gavin settled at least.”

“Don’t talk around me,” Gavin groused, but wrapped his arm around Michael neck and let himself be carried off. His eyes were shut tight as Michael brought him upstairs.

What a fucking mess. Geoff picked up his beer, drained the rest of it, then Griffon’s when he saw she hadn’t finished hers. Cleaning away plates and tossing out empty containers took him a second, but soon he followed everyone up to the second floor.

There was a linen closet, and Geoff liberated a light summer blanket from it before remembering how Gavin shivered while he was tucked up under a duvet. He grabbed a quilt, and took both down to what he mentally referred to as Gavin’s _old_ room. It was hard to tell what Gavin’s plans were, if he was staying or not, and it wasn’t really the time to ask.

If Geoff had his way, Gavin would stay, and they’d use all the new security in the house and on the estate to make sure no one so much as _looked_ at Gavin wrong ever again.

Fucking _Narvaroth_. What the hell was Captain America thinking?

In the bedroom, the lights were already off. Through the mostly closed bathroom door, Geoff could hear the shower going. Michael had probably jumped in for a fast wash.

Gavin was in bed, under the sheet that was left on the bed. He was curled up, arms and legs wrapped around a pillow held to his stomach. His face was curved into a slight frown, but his breathing was steady and deep. Being sick and getting a shock like Narvaroth on his TV was probably exhausting.

Careful to not wake him, Geoff shook out the first blanket, draping it over Gavin. It wasn’t difficult to tuck it around his sleep-lax form. Geoff watched him for a moment longer, catching the hint of a shudder running through his body, and so laid the quilt over him as well.

By then, the light from the bathroom went out and Geoff looked up to see Michael with damp hair and pajama pants standing there, watching.

“I’m sorry I didn’t…” Michael licked his lips slowly. “I didn’t bring him back in better shape.”

“Sparky,” Geoff said. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re probably not to blame for Gav’s stomach bug. It’s okay.” He backed away and watched Michael climb in with Gavin, curling around him with an arm wrapped around him securely. Geoff was pretty sure if anyone came for Gavin in the night, they’d have to fight through a fucking lightning god before laying a hand on him.

It was weird to spend so long guarding someone like your own kid, then to see someone else taking over.

Geoff nodded to Michael once, unsure what to say. As if Michael didn’t fucking know how bad things suddenly were. As if he didn’t understand that he was welcome here. As if they didn’t both know they had to protect Gavin from the sort of shit that followed Narvaroth like a plague.

Silently, Geoff let himself out of the room and shut the door behind him, standing for a moment alone in the hallway with his thoughts.


	4. so I guess that's how the future's done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chai for pre-reading this and reassuring me it would work. Also, this chapter has potentially triggery material, check the CWs in chapter one if needed.
> 
> Here is where I cash in every single token I've earned in the entire series.

Most people wouldn’t know by looking at it, but Dr. Jack Pattillo’s house was a monument.

The house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac in Shady Hollow, a suburb of Austin. It didn’t look any different from any of the other upper-middle class houses around it. From the street, no one could see the alloy metals reinforcing the walls or the nigh-invisible mesh in the windows. The brick facade concealed some of the most thorough noise-canceling material in construction. The security system was a fair bit more advanced than the usual BRINKS, to say the least.

In that house lived a doctor and his technician wife. It was the home of the Hulk.

It had a door chime that sounded like the classic Tetris theme.

Caiti looked up from Animal Crossing, the peach stylus between her teeth. “‘Aht em?” she mumbled around it.

“It’s probably not the Girl Scouts,” Jack said and climbed out of his chair to get the door.

She slid the stylus away with a click and stood as well, smoothing down her sundress with brisk, anxious flicks of her hands. “Should I… unplug anything? Is it like EMI?”

“I think Michael’s better about technology these days.” He reached the door and looked back to her. “They’re friends. It’ll be alright.”

She nodded quickly. “Friends. Friendly avatar of rage and thunder.”

“Something similar could be said about me,” Jack reminded her with a grin, and Caiti snorted, the line of her shoulders sagging, easing.

Jack opened the door and found Gavin Ramsey-Free and Michael Jones, designer of some of the most powerful technology in the world and his alien boyfriend, standing on his doorstep in the middle of suburbia. He stepped forward, hugging Gavin first. “Hey there, stranger.” Michael accepted a handshake. “Nice to see you two in Austin again.” He stepped back to let them inside.

“Good to be back. Sorry for dropping in on you,” Michael said.

“You’re not, it’s fine. It’s good to see you, even if I wish it was under better circumstances.” Speaking of, Jack looked Gavin over. He’d gotten calls from Michael and Griffon and Geoff about Gavin’s health, the sharp decline and how it had startled them all. Looking at him, he never would have guessed as much; Gavin’s eyes were alert, his face expressive and slightly flushed probably from the Texas summer’s heat.

As if to confirm, Gavin immediately said, “I feel fine, by the way. Yesterday was fairly rubbish, but I’d be up for a jaunt around Downtown today, honestly. This is probably a waste of your time, really.

Michael narrowed his eyes at Gavin, frowning deeply, and Jack got the impression this wasn’t the first time Gavin had said as much today. “Gav.”

“Ooh, you must be Mrs. Pattillo! Or is he Mr. Ward?” Gavin, once his sandals were left by the door, shuffled over to Caiti. “Or are you the secret mistress? I think you might be too lovely to marry old Jack.”

Caiti laughed and flashed her hand where her ring sat. “That so?” Opening her arms, she and Gavin hugged. “Nice to meet you, Gavin. I’ve heard all about you,” she said as they broke apart.

“I’d hope so. I’m very impressive.” He grinned and bounced twice on his toes. “Shall we get this over with? Maybe we can get done early and go out for bevs? Or do you still not drink, Jack?”

“I can drink,” Jack said. He never allowed himself to have more than a beer or two, but social drinking was nice sometimes. He couldn’t help but notice that Michael’s expression could sour milk, but wasn’t about to ask about it. “I have a lab set up downstairs.”

“Oh, that’s new. I want to see.”

Jack’s house had two subterranean levels. The basement was, as advertized, a medical lab. There was everything from holographic imaging suites to blood chemistry analyzers. It felt to Jack like stepping down into the _Enterprise’s_ med bay. Everything was far more advanced than the things he’d _dreamt_ of in university, all at his fingertips.

There was also a sub basement. Jack mentally referred to it as the Other Guy’s room.

Gavin made appreciative sounds as he looked around the lab. Then, he stopped and pointed to a cart of equipment. “ _That_ is Oum Designs’ work,” he said.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“Why are you cheating on us with Monty bloody Oum, Jack?”

Caiti cleared her throat. “I’m actually one of the lead technicians working with Oum Designs’ medical division.”

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “So… Jack married out of the family, I take it?”

“Cheeky,” Gavin said, clicking his tongue. “If I die in mysterious circumstances in this lab, investigate Oum, trust me.”

Jack rolled his eyes and pointed to the patient chair. “Sit.” Gavin boosted himself up onto the cushion without fuss and smiled for Jack. “Now tell me how you’ve been feeling.”

“Fine,” Gavin said, and the word was barely out of his mouth before Michael said, “Bullshit.” The two of them shared a look, some of the good humor in the room draining away. Gavin sighed, chided. “All right. So I possibly fell more ill than I’ve been in my entire life for a few days there.”

Jack pulled up a wheeled stool and started going through the motions, taking Gavin’s pulse, his heart pressure, feeling his more readily-available glands as he spoke. Gavin tipped his head and offered his arm, anything Jack silently requested.

“It was in the Keys. We’d just come from Oxfordshire, visiting the fam. None of them were sick though and… I don’t think I met anyone who was sick at all, now that I think about it. But I woke up one morning and was voming like I had a king-sized hangover. I didn’t, though!” He shook his head.

“Yeah, we had a night in before that,” Michael said, and the ways his eyes flicked away from Jack’s gaze was telling. One of _those_ nights in. He didn’t seem keen on elaborating.

Caiti, because she was an observant, brilliant woman, caught on. She said, “I’m going to pop upstairs. Give me a shout if you need, all right?” before leaving the three of them alone.

Jack asked, “Anything different about that night? Did you guys try anything new?”

Gavin blushed red and knocked his feet against the base of the chair. “Erm.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tucking it back behind his ears. “Not _new_ , but there was a storm.”

“A storm.” Jack said flatly. “A natural storm?”

Gavin blinked. “I… yes. You know about the storm thing?”

Michael said, “Jack is my doctor, Gav. He knows a lot of things.”

The week that Jack had spent with Michael, taking extensive notes on his anatomy, testing his fluids for potential toxins, and nodding along as Michael explained his own species had been the second most interesting week of Jack’s life, after the week he became the Hulk for the first time. Jack remembered taking notes by hand because Michael had yet to learn to play nicely with laptops when his emotions were running high. It’d been a week of learning, of bad miscommunications, and had ended with Jack determining Michael was very unlikely to kill anyone by accident.

Michael had been grateful, but spent pretty much the entire week blushing to the roots of his hair. Jack had schooled his expression into something professional and understanding as Michael explained he was maybe interested in intercourse with humans but was having trouble with research--

Giving an alien porn recommendations was among the most strange, surreal moments of Jack’s entire life.

“But you’ve done that before, and nothing like this happened after?” Jack said, steering the conversation back on topic.

Gavin shook his head. “Nope.” Maybe feeling bolder or at least more comfortable, he said, “We’ve shagged on the regular for a long while now, so I don’t think it’s that.”

“What were your symptoms then?”

Gavin’s mouth twisted, like just remembering his sickness turned his stomach. “Ugh… nausea at first, like something was just not sitting right. But after I threw up everything, I still felt it. It got worse, bad enough I couldn’t even sit up. Then there was… stomach cramps?” He put his hand over his lower abdomen, just above the waist of his jeans. “There was this pain, really sustained but not… too bad? I was mostly dizzy.”

“He was really out of it,” Michael added. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“So, lots of vom, lots of sleeping through cramps, lots of feeling utterly knackered.” Gavin shrugged. “But I feel good now?”

“Do you?” Jack asked. “No lingering effects? Nothing?”

Gavin paused, and then said, “No.” But the pause was too long, enough to make it clear something _wasn’t_ normal.

“All right.” Jack took off his glasses, cleaned them, and slipped them back on, taking the moment to think. It was true, that Gavin’s family was reacting more to the strangeness of Gavin getting sick at all than the potential for something lingering in him, a sign of bad things to come. But a few simple tests wouldn’t hurt and would assuage that nagging voice in Jack’s mind that wasn’t so convinced. “We’re going to do some basic work on you.”

Gavin wrinkled his nose. “This is going to involve needles, isn’t it?”

 

* * *

 

There were a few needles, though Jack didn't think the fuss Gavin kicked up about them was really warranted. Once he tapped Gavin for various fluids, he set up tests even as Gavin complained that Oum-made devices weren't going to work; apparently, according to Gavin, the analyzers were hardcoded to recognize Ramsey DNA and were going to explode to take out the competition.

"You have a very high opinion of yourself," Jack said. "Or a very low opinion of Monty."

"Oh, it's _Monty_ now," Gavin said, but softened his complaints with a grin. "Now we wait?"

Now they waited. The equipment was what Jack thought of as space-aged technology and would check for the sort of things that would take the average hospital a hundred separate tests to find. It felt to him almost like cheating, like he should be back in the lab with centrifuges and pipets, painstakingly mixing chemicals.

Instead, he was outside at the grill, flipping hamburger patties while Caiti, Gavin, and Michael sat drinking lemonade under an umbrella. Caiti and Michael were talking about some opera he'd seen in Sydney and how much he'd liked Perth while Gavin played with his phone. He had pictures on there and shared them, hand cupping over his phone's screen to block out the sun.

It didn't feel at all like a doctor's appointment. It felt like the everyday get-together among friends.

Until Joel peeked through the sliding glass door.

He didn't do anything to draw attention to himself. Jack actually didn't know he was there until Michael's face _changed_ and he stood, putting his hand on Gavin's shoulder. Gavin mouth was open, a hard exhale of shock rushing out of him like he’d been hit. Michael, though, looked ready for a fight, the lines of his arms tensing, feet shifting into some kind of stance. The air crackled suddenly with static, and Jack shut his eyes for a second, already knowing what had happened.

Caiti got to her feet and went to the door, opening it and saying low and angry, " _Joel_."

"Sorry. Smelt food and-- sorry."

Which both of them knew was bullshit. Jack had told Joel about the appointment so he knew Gavin would be there. For whatever Joel-logic reason, he showed up anyway instead of staying upstairs. Jack had stopped fully understanding Joel's motivations and reasons years ago. Maybe he was looking to get killed. Maybe he wanted to gloat about being out of BYTE's deep containment.

Either way, Jack set his tongs down and covered his eyes, taking a moment to breathe. And the fact that he had to do that, stop and handle his anger instead of _explain_ to Gavin and Michael, just pissed him off more.

Gavin’s face was devoid of all of its earlier warmth. His eyes were steady on Joel and his voice didn’t even shake when he said, “Aren’t you going to say hello properly then?”

Joel and Gavin stared at each other, and Caiti looked nervously between them before reluctantly stepping back. Joel stepped out onto the porch, dressed in his usual bulky hoodie and jeans. Around his ankle was a large black cuff with an unwieldy box jutting out.

Jack had to say something. “I asked Ryan if we’d be able to take Joel into our custody. He’s locked down, he can’t leave the premises and BYTE knows where he is at all times.”

“I get it,” Gavin said, voice hollow. “You guys had history. Even with what he did, you didn’t want to leave him to rot.”

“Gavin--” Jack started.

“Let me see it then,” Gavin went on, to Joel.

Joel’s entire body went stiff. “What?”

Carefully shrugging Michael’s hands off his shoulders, Gavin stood. There was an almost imperceptible shudder running through his body, but he leaned on the table and hide it well. “I know Griffon designed it. I want to see.”

Joel bared his teeth and crossed his arms protectively over his chest. “Why?”

Gavin’s gaze grew cold. “Doesn’t matter. Come on, Heyman.” He reached over, tugging his own sleeve up his arm, showing the scars on his bicep, the ones he’d gotten during his abduction two years ago. “Show me yours. You owe me that.”

Everyone around the two of them were still, unsure what to do. Caiti kept almost jerking into motion, towards Joel, towards Gavin, clearly not knowing what to do. Michael just stood behind Gavin, watching very carefully. Jack knew from experience it wouldn’t take long for Michael to end this little tête-à-tête when he decided to.

“ _Fucking fuck_ ,” Joel growled under his breath and grabbed the zipper of his hoodie, dragging it down until the zip popped and the two sides separated.

Underneath, hidden every day like a shameful secret under hoodies and sweaters and vests even in the middle of summer, was a metal carapace. It appeared to be some kind of armor, overlapping planes of gunmetal green. There were exhaust ports lined up every inch or so along the panels. Under them were coils, wrapping around Joel’s torso and emanating out from center mass. Dotted over it were lights, pale blues and greens that glowed steadily.

In the middle was a circular disk that held the emblem for Ramsey Enterprises. More than once, Jack had caught Joel in front of a mirror, staring at it, eyes red with anger. It was just Griffon’s style, to design the device that held Joel’s Extremis in check, build it herself, and slap her family name where it couldn’t be missed.

Gavin stepped into Joel’s space and parted his jacket further, revealing more of the carapace. He nodded to himself and touched the hard outer panels. “Very solid.” His finger tapped one of the coils and he pulled away, shaking his hand and wincing. “Imagine that keeps you right cool, then?”

Joel stepped away, wrapping his hoodie over his chest. “Well, what can I say. Your mom doesn’t fuck around.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Gavin stepped back. “But it means you get to live outside a BYTE cell, so you’re welcome.”

Joel’s face contorted into something ugly, and steam whined out of his carapace. The sound was audible, and it snapped him out of whatever stupid shit he was about to pull. Instead, he turned and left, retreating back into the house.

Jack looked to Caiti, and she nodded, following after him, sliding the door shut behind them.

Whatever ridiculous courage Gavin had been tapping into to do that, it seemed to run dry as soon as Joel was gone. He slumped back down into his seat on the beach and Michael was there, ready when Gavin turned into him and put his head against Michael’s chest. Michael’s arms folded around his neck and one hand laid over Gavin’s face, effectively hiding him from view. Not a word was exchanged between them; Michael just stepped in and gave Gavin what he needed.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I should have warned you he was here. I thought he’d listen and stay out of the way-- I should have told you.”

Gavin didn’t say anything, suddenly removed from the conversation completely. Michael nodded slowly. “That would have been better, yeah.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. Or,” Michael shook his head. “It’s really not fine, but I don’t think we want to talk about it.”

Under Michael’s hands, Gavin nodded and mumbled. “No, we don’t.” Then, “I still want my burger though.”

Michael smiled weakly and tucked his hand into Gavin’s bangs, thumb rubbing against his hairline. Gavin tipped his head back, eyes open but a little red, looking up at Michael.

Jack turned his back to them, back towards the grill, giving them a semblance of privacy. He was surprised to find the burgers were not as ruined as he’d imagined. They were dark, but still charred rather than burnt.

Caiti rejoined them, took one look at the boys, and stood at Jack’s side, pressing in close. Whispering, she asked, “Everything going all right?”

“No,” Jack said. “But it could be a lot worse. Here, help me plate these up.”

 

* * *

 

Gavin felt, as he called it, _a bit wibbly_ after lunch. Jack looked him over again, watching carefully as Gavin boosted himself up onto the patient chair again and then put a hand against his lower abdomen, frowning to himself. “Must be a stomach bug,” he said.

Jack was less sure, especially after pressing his fingers against Gavin’s stomach, poking some of the problem areas that wouldn’t like being poked if it was a stomach issue.

“Maybe I’m not digesting something right,” Gavin murmured, passive as Jack prodded at him.

“What makes you say that?”

“Can feel it. Like a knot, but heavy? I don’t know.” He sighed. “This is like describing computer problems to JJ. I never really know what to tell him and he’s always got to figure it out himself.”

“Like explaining car troubles to your mechanic,” Jack added, understanding.

“You’d know, not me.” When Jack picked out a needle, ripping it out of its sterile packaging, Gavin pursed his lips. “Can’t we just say I’m fine and send me home?”

“Do you feel fine?” Jack asked.

Gavin went quiet, offering up his arm in lieu of answering, looking at the ceiling as Jack took some more blood.

The previous set of tests were done, not that Jack had said as much to anyone. There wasn’t much he could tell them except the results were inconclusive. There wasn’t really a medical term for _I have no damn clue what’s going on with you but it’s weird_. Because that was the actual result.

Now, Jack had a hunch. It required some recalibration of machines he didn’t understand, but Caiti did. Jack took a sample out of storage and told her to run a comparison to that. “What is it?”

“Older sample,” Jack said.

“Of Gavin’s?” She looked at the sample closely, at the flecks of something glistening inside. “Or Michael’s?”

Jack didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Caiti worked her magic with the machine and they left it to run as the afternoon meandered into evening. They had drinks with Gavin getting creative with Jack’s liquor collection, which was meager when compared to the Ramseys’. He’d apparently learned several fun recipes while in the Keys, “before the plague hit me like a ton of bloody bricks,” and was eager to show off.

The TV was on, until the news came on and the newscaster said _BYTE_. That was all Jack caught before Gavin shut it off angrily.

“No more smear campaigns, if you please,” he said bitterly and went back to cutting the rind of an orange into spirals.

Caiti bit her lip, hands twisting in her lap. She didn’t know Gavin and Michael well, so it had to be Jack who asked, “How much of what Narvaroth said is true?”

Michael’s head snapped up to meet Jack’s gaze and he looked hurt. “What?”

Caiti’s fingers tapped together, fidgety. “We saw the interview last night. He said he was… your squire?”

“No. _Fuck_ , you don’t--” Michael got up and took a step towards Jack and Caiti, but stopped. His hands were clenched, shoulders tense, but he was still. Jack had seen him do that a lot, squashing his instinctual reactions to things. He knew that sort of control well. “You think he was telling the truth?”

She shrugged. “We didn’t know. I mean, I-- I wasn’t even sure you were an alien? It made more sense than anything, but...” She trailed off and leaned more firmly along Jack’s side, her feet tucked up onto the sofa next to him. He let her slip under his arm, holding her near. He didn’t think for a moment Michael would hurt her, even by accident, but offered up that warm sense of protection anyway.

“Narvaroth’s a fucking liar. It’s what he does. If he says ten words to you, six of them are lies and four are misdirection.” The muscle in his jaw clenched and Jack could hear his teeth grind for a moment. “I can’t believe you thought…”

“So you weren’t banished?”

“I… I was, but so was he. That’s…” He looked to Gavin helplessly.

Gavin shook his head. “Michael, love, no one else knows the story. I do. Geoff and Griffon know some of it. The rest, though?”

“Shit,” Michael said quietly, moving to lean on the counter next to Gavin. Gavin cupped his neck, leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Narvaroth’s a vindictive menace who’s somehow convinced BYTE he’s not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got his claws in Captain America somehow,” Gavin said.

“Ryan’s too smart for that,” Jack said. “He has to know what he’s doing.”

“You’re still in touch?” Gavin blinked. “What am I saying, of course you are. He helped you get a hold of-- of your houseguest.”

“The man is extremely intelligent, Gavin,” Jack said. “And he’s a good man, if a bit… Machiavellian.”

“Did you hear him throw my family to the sharks last night?”

“Well, Gavin,” Jack said carefully, aware this wasn’t a good place for him. Jack liked Ryan, thought he was a great upgrade from Commander Sorola. He was a reasonable man, clever, unerring in his desire to do good. He was also the only person in BYTE who’d made Jack feel welcome when he’d been in BYTE Tower. “Look at it from his perspective. Ramsey Enterprises has a lot of toys they don’t share with BYTE, and as bad as it sounds, from their perspective it looks like you’ve been using Michael’s knowledge for your own gain.”

“I don’t _have_ any knowledge!” Michael said, plainly exasperated. “In my realm, I was a fighter, all right? I was trained to fight and I didn’t really bother with anything the court mages wanted to teach me.” He waved a hand through the air expansively. “The only shit I know about is my hammer and-- and storms and the Bifrost, which isn’t what Narvaroth was talking about, and _even then_ just because I had to know about how to work it.”

“And we believe you,” Caiti said, voice soft and soothing. “We do. But most people don’t know that, Michael.”

The glance the boys shared then said one thing: that they hadn’t thought about that. Jack understood that feeling. Amongst his friends and family, Jack’s _condition_ was a non-issue. Everyone knew that he had a handle on it and he had measures in place for when he did lose his grip. It was everyone _else_ who didn’t get it, and it was always strange to be reminded that the rest of the world called him the Hulk, not Jack.

Clearly, Michael sometimes forgot the name the world called him was Mogar the Thunderhead.

“We’ll worry about it later,” Gavin said, tugging on one of Michael’s curls so it bounced back against his scalp. “Have a drink, love.”

 

* * *

 

It was after dinner when Jack got his results back and called Gavin down to the lab again.

“Have we got a culprit then?” Gavin asked, his legs swinging a quick rhythm where they hung over the edge of the chair. “Something I ate?”

“Not if you still feel something,” Jack said and rolled over his cart of equipment closer to Gavin. It had blood pressure and sugar monitors, oxygen, EKG, heart rate monitor, and (most importantly at the moment) an ultrasound. Jack turned on the ultrasound and picked up a bottle of the conductive gel. “I want to see something. Lay back, shirt up?” He made it a question, just in case, aware of the way Gavin’s eyes got wide and worried as soon as Jack flipped the machine on.

“Well, that’s not what I expected,” Gavin said lightly, and it was strange to watch him as searched for a joke to break the tension. Nothing apparently came to him; he laid back and pulled his shirt up.

“Where did you feel the knot?”

“The not-a-knot?” Gavin wiggled his jeans down until he was just barely still decent and tapped at a low spot. “Here, I suppose.”

Jack nodded and applied some of the gel to Gavin’s skin, apologizing softly for the cool shock of it. Gavin nodded mutely and didn’t seem to know where to look. He tried to watch Jack for a moment, then looked at the machine as Jack held the transducer wand against his skin, then up at the ceiling, biting his lip.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked.

“Hm. I’m… trying to come up with a joke about tumors but it’s not a very funny topic, is it?”

A shocked laugh huffed out of Jack. “Let me know if you think of one. I’ll add it to my collection of bad doctor jokes.” His eyes flicked between the screen, watching for anything that might not belong, and Gavin, making sure he was all right. And _all right_ might have been asking a bit much of him but he was laying still, breathing steadily, though Jack thought he was forcing himself to.

Gavin exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes. “Please don’t find anything.”

“I’ll try,” Jack promised as he searched around, guiding the transducer around. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

Until he found it.

There was something between Gavin’s bladder and intestines. It didn’t seem to be inside either one, just settled between them. It was a sphere. It was a _perfect_ sphere and bounced back the soundwaves wholly, appearing as an almost solid white circle on the monitor. It was about the size of dime and was so odd and unexpected Jack blurted out, “Did you swallow a marble?”

“A what?”

Jack froze the image as Gavin sat up, on his elbows. They both looked at the screen with its incongruous circle. It looked completely out of place, like someone had painted on the screen with white acrylic. For the first time in the day, Gavin looked worried. “That’s in me? Is that a tumor? Do they look like that?”

Jack shook his head. “Some kind of foreign body.”

Possibilities were running through Jack’s head, the most appealing one starting with _b_ and ending with _iopsy_ , but Michael bounded into the room then with a long stride, moving fast. “What’s the problem?” He took in Gavin’s state, sitting next to a medical device with shiny mineral gel over his lower abdomen, and his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

Gavin reached out and snagged a paper cloth from the cart, swiping away the mess on his skin. “Nothing’s wrong, Michael.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“I’m not!”

“I could feel it from the other side of the house, Gav,” Michael said, stalking forward to squint at the monitor with its white circle on it. After a second of glaring, he looked away, not looking any more enlightened for having done so.

Jack, though, had a question. “How did you know Gavin was upset?”

“I felt it loud and clear, Jack,” Michael groused. He watched Gavin smooth his shirt back down, like none of it had happened. “What’s going on?”

Jack pulled up his stool and sat in it heavily. “That is a very good question. Maybe you can help us answer it.” The cap from the transducer went in the trash and the wand went back on its hook against the machine, basic clean-up as Jack thought about what was laid out for them. “Gavin’s blood came back clean of anything dangerous. But when I ran a second test comparing his make-up with yours, I found trace amounts of _something_ in his system.”

Gavin’s brow furrowed. “Something?”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah, something. Michael’s biology resembles ours in a lot of ways. His blood has plenty of cells analogous to ours, but they aren’t the same. And I’ve not exactly come up with names for everything.” He pointed a finger. “Now, his blood has very small crystalline cells. It’s why it seems to shimmer under direct light.” His finger moved to point at Gavin. “You have trace amounts of that now. Small enough that I wouldn’t have found them if I hadn’t been looking for them specifically.”

“I have crystal in me?” Gavin looked like he could decide whether to keep being worried or just confused.

“No.” To Michael, he asked, “How did you know Gavin was upset? Can you sense his emotions?”

Michael crossed his arms. “Uh… I mean, we’re-- bonded, like you and Caiti. It’s like that.”

“Michael, I’ve known Caiti for years before we even dated. We’re very good friends and know each other well. I can tell when she’s happy or sad. I _can’t_ sense it from across the house. Humans don’t do that.”

“Gav does,” Michael instantly replied.

Gavin looked at his feet, his head ducking to hide an incredibly guilty expression.

Holy crap. Jack took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. This was trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle in the dark. There were more pieces missing than he even knew yet, and it didn’t help that getting Gavin to open up about anything beyond the superficial was like pulling teeth. “Gavin.”

“Yeah,” Gavin muttered. “Yeah, I can feel stuff from him. It’s… weird, I don’t even know when it started. But when he’s pleased about something, I can feel it and it makes me pleased? And…”

Michael was nodding along slowly. “I can feel when something’s wrong with Gavin and it resonates back to me. That’s normal for my people with bondmates.”

“Even when they aren’t the same…” Gavin waved his hand. “Whatsit?”

“Amaranthine. I’m an amaranth.” He let out a long breath, thinking. “And my home, its called Oestret Roethe, but it’s home to more than just the Amaranthine. And we bond with those other people sometimes.”

“And your ability to sense emotions carries over to other species?” Jack asked. Michael nodded. “How?”

“I don’t-- I wasn’t kidding, I’m really not what you guys call a scientist.” He looked frustrated more than anything, like he was grasping for words to explain, and Jack had never been more aware of the strange language non-barrier between them, how everything was going through some filter. “It takes a strong connection and a long bond, but it happens. Gradual shifts to make things easier, I guess?”

Jack considered that. “Might be linked to what’s going on with Gavin’s blood. Your species is used to interacting with others? Then you may have evolved to…” The trouble was that there wasn’t a term for this. New ground was always difficult and Jack preferred the practical fields to the theoretical and the pure sciences. “Lets call it inducing sympathetic biology.”

“What’s that called when it’s at home?” Gavin asked.

“No, I get that. Yeah, it’s about right,” Michael said. “Basically I’m just… making little changes in you so we work together better.”

“You don’t seem concerned.”

“Well, humans are the only fully sentient species on your planet. Oestret Roethe, there’s plenty there. I never… thought of it as strange, relationships between different species. Things happen. You fall in with each other and make it work. Amaranths aren’t the only ones who do that.”

Well, at least it wasn’t unusual for one of them. Jack wasn’t thrilled with this being sprung on them all of a sudden, but whatever was happening with Gavin could’ve been one of the hazards of being _bondmates_ with an alien.

That explained a few things, but not the reason Gavin was here-- not what was captured on the monitor. Jack tapped the ultrasound’s screen and asked, “And do amaranths implant things in their bondmates?”

Gavin scoffed, complete with an disbelieving eyeroll. “I don’t think Michael’s--”

Michael said, “I am _way_ too young for that.”

Gavin’s sentence, whatever it was going to be, gave way into a confused jumble of consonants before he squeaked, “Wait, _what_? What does that mean?”

Jack had a very bad feeling about this. Everything was lining up into an answer he really wasn’t expecting when he was asked to find out what was going on with Gavin. It was years of practice remaining calm in strange, often aggravating situations with people he liked a lot less than these two that kept his tone steady. “What do you implant?”

Michael _flushed_ , looking almost insulted. “Nothing until I’m _at least_ 300.”

Gavin held up his hand. “I’m sorry, are we talking about what I think we are? Because then the ultrasound is even _less_ funny than it was when we were checking for tumors.”

Michael paled. “You have a--”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jack said loudly, over both of them. “What is it, Michael?”

Michael’s lips pressed together into an angry line and he huffed out an annoyed breath. “It’s… usually in a bonded group of amaranths, one of them is capable of making eggs and has some waiting, but if someone like that isn’t around then any amaranth can do it.”

Eggs. Jack was glad he was already sitting down, and that Gavin was too, given the soft, startled huff of air he let out before putting his fist over his mouth. At least now he had an reason for the strange ultrasound results. “So you’re like clownfish,” was his first reaction, which sounded weird outside his own head if the look Gavin shot him was any indication.

“I… wouldn’t know?” He shuffled his feet, suddenly youthful, like a teenager caught out. “I read up about human biology years ago but didn’t get much further than your fucking _terrifying_ reproduction, let alone any of your animals’ reproduction.”

Gavin, who’d started to look a little shocky and dazed, came around then to ask, “Hang on, what’s that supposed to mean? That’s a bit rude, innit?”

Jack held up a quelling hand. “No, he’s right. Human pregnancies are some of the most dangerous on the planet. If someone were pregnant for ten months instead of nine, they wouldn’t survive it.”

Gavin’s jaw dropped. “Are you… what, really?”

Tempted as he was, Jack didn’t think it was the time to give Gavin a crash course in obstetrics. There were more pressing matters at hand. “Explain it to me. How do amaranths reproduce?”

Michael had a look like that was precisely the last thing he wanted to do, but his eyes found the monitor’s image again, this time looking at it with dawning comprehension. He licked his lips nervously and just kicked off the ground, hovering with his knees bent and his elbows on his legs. Gavin was in about the same position, only obeying the laws of physics.

“Amaranths,” Michael started slowly, feeling his way through each word, “When they’re old enough and have bonded, they produce eggs. They’re small, like…” Not microscopic though, as he held his fingers about two centimeters apart. “That small. And whoever has the egg, they collect their partners’ genetic material and they prepare the egg. Then they either keep it in them or they pass it to one of their bondmates.” The vague description made Jack want to press for more info, but it could wait for now. Getting Michael to talk about his anatomy and how it _actually worked_ was always an arduous process. Jack felt bad for Michael, having to spill out so many things about his people when he was far from them. “It’s kept up in the sheath and stays there for a few months until it gets dense enough to drop.”

“Dense,” Jack repeated carefully. “Do you mean denser or larger?”

Michael pulled a face. “Not larger. I mean, they start out really small and grow a bit, but don’t get bigger than…” He held his fingers apart again, and Jack pictured a sphere about the size of a golf ball. “Then they just get denser. It’s not like humans where they grow _inside_ you,” he explained, regaining some of that scared look on his face.

“So it gets heavier, not bigger,” Gavin said quietly.

“Yeah. I mean, the-- the sheath, it doesn’t stretch at all, so big eggs would fucking _hurt_. Once the egg is ready to come out, it’ll have all the things it needs. I think it’s mostly energy like heat? I don’t…” Michael ran a hand through his hair slowly. “I never thought about this stuff seriously, so I don’t know the specifics, but the egg’s shell is hard and it keeps heat and stuff inside, converts it to energy to finish gestating while it’s out of the host’s body. _Then_ it gets bigger until its ready to hatch, but that’s another month or two.”

“And that’s for amaranths together?” Jack asked. Michael nodded. “But it’s not always with other amaranths, is it?”

Michael took a deep breath, as steady in the air as Jack was on the ground. “No. Not always.”

“How does it work then?” When he kept hesitating, Jack sighed. “Michael.”

“I know, I know. Fucking shit.” He ran both his hands into his hair this time, and gripped it, pulling for a second. “Okay. Okay, if the bondmate _isn’t_ amaranthine, the process still… happens. Egg, and collect genetic material, and sometimes the egg winds up in the other species.”

“But they don’t have your sheath or anatomy.”

“Then it depends. We can…” His voice shook, and he stopped to take another deep breath. “Shit. We can-- you called it inducing…”

“Inducing sympathetic biology,” Jack supplied.

“That. We do that. We can-- if the bondmate is almost equipped to be host we can… fudge with their anatomy. It’s a long process and there needs to be a really strong bond and prolonged exposure, but it-- happens.” The words sounded almost pained. Everything he said sounded fought for, the words lined up with care as he tried to explain and remain calm amid the gravity of the situation. Jack didn’t envy him. “The eggs are tough. They don’t need special places in the host body or connections or whatever, they just find a safe place in the body and collect what they need. Then, if the anatomy’s like an amaranth’s and works fine, it just passes through.”

Gavin raised his hand again. He looked less shocked, but his voice was still pitched higher than normal and he’d gone back to swinging his legs and fidgeting. “And if the anatomy’s not the same?”

“Then it’s removed. There are specialists in Oestret Roethe, body mages. The host will know when the egg’s ready to come out and they get it taken out. We’ve got tools for that, I don’t even think it hurts really…” Michael said. “And if there’s no body mage around, then it’s surgery. I’ve literally _never_ heard of it being a problem.”

Jack turned and looked at the ultrasound. “Maybe they’re smart enough to settle somewhere out of the way.”

“ _Smart enough_?” Gavin asked.

“If amaranths can induce sympathetic biology well enough that oviposition in other species isn’t uncommon and is often successful, the egg knowing where to settle isn’t out of the question.” Jack stood up and pointed to the white shapes around the circle. “This is your bladder. This is your intestines. I’m going to postulate that the cramping and pain you felt in the Keys was the egg migrating.” Jack looked over at his shoulder at Michael who nodded, eyes downcast, like causing Gavin any pain was something to be ashamed of. The fact that he’d affected Gavin’s body enough that he _survived_ that was remarkable, in Jack’s opinion.

Explaining further, Jack said, “It settled between them, at a low center of gravity, where something dense won’t push against your body too much and should be supported.” He smiled. “There’s probably some clever chemistry there, distinguishing between organ tissue and such. That’s pretty damn smart.”

“Thanks,” Michael said, managing a bit of a smile.

“Shut up,” Gavin said, staring at the monitor again.

“So if it’s removed, it’s a less invasive caesarean?” Jack asked.

Michael looked confused. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a surgery used to remove a human baby that’s ready to be born but cannot be birthed naturally.”

Nodding briskly, Michael said, “Yeah, that.” He was less tense now. Maybe having Jack understand it all helped. Jack couldn’t imagine the burden of explaining your own species when you were alone on an alien world. Especially given the circumstances.

Speaking of, Gavin was quiet again. His gaze was steady on Michael, and maybe with their connection Michael had some idea what he was thinking, but Jack had no idea. He seemed collected if not relaxed, the line of his spine rigid.

Whatever was going on behind the windows of his eyes, it urged Michael to say, “Look, I’m sorry this happened. I really… don’t know why it did, it doesn’t make sense. I would’ve been more careful with you otherwise, Gavin, I promise you.”

“Your sympathetic biology,” Jack said, ready to hazard a guess. “Does it work both ways?”

“Uh.” His brow knit together as he thought about it. “Yeah, but I don’t see how tha--. My body tries to… accommodate Gavin? Like, when he’s cold, I warm him up and I can tell little things about him… I started to like the same foods as him after a while. Stuff like that.”

“Then I have a theory. We can get a current sample of your blood later and I’ll see what that tells me, but amaranthine life spans are hundreds of years, right?” Michael nodded along. “While you were making Gavin’s anatomy work better with yours, the opposite may have been happening. You started doing those little things to help him. Maybe your… metabolism or what have you, it sped up to be closer to his.”

Gavin snorted. “So… so, hang on.” A smile found its way onto his face for the first time since Jack rolled out the ultrasound. “So Michael’s biological clock sped up and went off?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Michael groaned. “No. Fucking no.”

Gavin started snickering, and it was some much needed lightness in the wake of-- everything. “You heard Jack. It’s the best theory we have. Your biological clock went off and you suddenly want kids.”

Michael didn’t seem to have a counter argument for that, just got a annoyed pout on his face. “I was trying to apologize to you, you asshole.”

“Well, I mean…” Gavin laughed. “I don’t know what I really expected, shagging an actual alien with actual tentacles. I was a pleb not to see it coming. Knocked up with an alien baby.”

“It’s an egg,” Michael corrected, so it must’ve been an important distinction. “And….” His humor faded. “You’re early in the host cycle, so the egg can be removed easily. Or, if your body rejects it, it’ll break down on its own.” His voice got sharp and nervous. “But if you want it removed then-- then okay, that’s fine but could I take it instead?”

The sudden fall of quiet then was deafening, Jack and Gavin apparently equally stunned by the request. Gavin’s eyes popped wide, so the idea that Michael was actually interested in the whole egg business must’ve been news to him too.

Michael looked away quickly. “Nevermind.”

“What, no, not _nevermind_ , Michael,” Gavin babbled. “Michael, you--”

“ _Nevermind_ , don’t worry about it.” He spun in the air, turning away. Gavin’s mouth opened, worked soundlessly for a moment before shutting. The lingering edges of his laughter were shuttered away, his face falling, his shoulders sagging like a great weight fell onto his shoulders.

Jack wanted to shake both of them. Surely two people who’d just spent so long living each other’s pockets would be better at this? But that was sort of how this entire situation happened, wasn’t it?

“Here, lay back,” Jack murmured, putting a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. He broke out the transducer again, and now that he knew what he was looking at, the work was easier. His hands shook less and his eyes were keener as he traced the edges of the egg, its hard shell in Gavin. It really wouldn’t be hard to remove. Which made sense; amaranths probably evolved to do this, to not hurt their egg’s host.

“I can probably get us some lab space at Ramsey Enterprises tomorrow. I have a surgeon friend I’d trust with this, name’s Adam. It would be really quick,” Jack told him.

Softly, Gavin asked, “Would it hurt me, d’you think?” Quickly, he added, “Not the surgery.”

Jack immediately knew what he meant and something in his chest tightened. Gavin had a contemplative set to his face and Jack knew he was thinking about it. The whole concept of the egg was fascinating to Jack and he’d been fairly enthralled as Michael explained it all, but in the wake of that, Gavin was here and he he was Jack’s primary concern.

“Michael,” Jack said. “Give us a minute alone.”

Michael spun back around and let his feet touch back down. “Is there something…” He met Jack’s gaze, held it for a moment, before nodding. “Okay. Okay, I’ll wait,” he hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Outside.”

He lingered for a moment, watching Gavin as he was laid over the chair, but didn’t say anything else before heading upstairs.

When he was gone, Gavin turned his head and stared up at Jack. “You’re going to tell me no, then.”

Jack sighed and pressed the transducer against Gavin’s skin again, looking at the incongruous white circle on the monitor with trepidation. “I am going to tell you… that this isn’t necessarily safe and if you are thinking about this for Michael, don’t.”

“You think he’s lying?” The idea was apparently absurd to Gavin. "About  _this?_ "

“I think Michael’s admitted several times today that he’s not a scientist and this is the first time his species has encountered humans.”

Gavin shook his head. “I get that. I know. But you know what you’re doing, right? You’d help?”

Jack put the wand away again and leaned over Gavin as he laid there, watching him steadily. “Gavin. What are you thinking, really?”

His eyes slid away, to the ceiling, and there was an odd set to his mouth. He was biting the insides of his cheek, pressing his lips together as he thought. “Carpet floors,” he said quietly. “Among other things.”

“What?”

“Say I don’t get the surgery. What then?”

Jack had never seen Gavin like this. There was a coolness to him, a cousin to the arctic ice that’d been in him when he faced down Joel. It reminded Jack more of Griffon than anyone, the way she got when she decided how the world was going to be and was already planning on how to make it so.

“I would want to see you every couple of days,” Jack said, thinking it out as he spoke. “If the egg’s set to get denser, there could be complications as it leans on your organs. You wouldn’t be allowed to be cagey about anything. There’s no precedent for this.”

“That’s fine,” Gavin said, nodding. Then, catching the look on Jack’s face, he smirked. “I know everyone is constantly surprised by this, but I _do_ take some things seriously, Jack.”

Jack rocked back on his heels. “It’d be nice if you gave _any_ indication of that _ever_.”

“Got to keep you on your toes. Right then. Your Adam friend can do a caesar thing later?”

“It’s not technically a caesarean, but yeah, I think so. I can ask him to stay local for a while.”

Gavin nodded and grabbed Jack’s arm, using it to pull himself upright again. He clicked his fingers, holding out his hand until Jack put a towel in it, and then cleaned off his abdomen again of the gel. “Don’t worry so much, Jack. Things work out.”

Jack lifted his eyebrows. “Do they? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Gavin, but your life’s kind of a series of weird things like this.”

He slid off the chair and onto his feet. “What can I say, I was born lucky.” He turned on his heel, to Jack. “I get the risks. And you’re right. I just think it’s going to be fine.”

That was more than Jack expected from Gavin, and perhaps he didn’t know Gavin as well as he thought. He nodded. “All right. Let’s do this.”

Gavin beamed. “Top.” His voice pitched louder. “ _Mi_ chael!”

Jack got the impression Michael had been standing just on the other side of the door, maybe sitting on the stairs. He poked his head back into the lab. “Yeah? Are we-- ready to go?”

“You said that if the host’s life is in danger, the thing breaks down, right?”

Michael’s eyes were dark and bright, the amber around his wide black pupils gleaming with a startlingly vivid light. “Yeah,” he said. “Host’s life always comes first.”

“That’s not uncommon,” Jack offered quietly as he cleaned his equipment again and powered it all down. “In egg-laying animals. Mammals too.”

“Right. Then we’re ready to go home.” Gavin was radiating cheerfulness like the sun. “And hello, you actually did figure out why I was sick. Good work, Dr. Pattillo!”

Michael stepped into Gavin until they were almost toe to toe, his hands sliding up Gavin’s arms, cupping his elbows. “You’re… You want to…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Gavin nodded. “I mean, I reserve the right to look back at this moment and go ‘well that was bloody stupid’ but for now, I think so, yeah.”

Gavin was lifted off the ground by the force of Michael’s hug as Michael apparently forgot about gravity again and bundled Gavin to his chest, muttering, “Holy shit, holy _shit_ ,” intently under his breath. Gavin laughed, kicking his legs and hanging onto Michael’s shoulders, calling his name in a cheerful, shocked tone. “Don’t be so damn pleased, Michael Jones, because Geoff and Griffon are going to _wreck_ you for this,” Gavin told him even as he clutched tighter, laughter eeking out of him as Michael held him.

Jack sat heavily in his chair. It was easily the strangest case he’d ever had besides his own (and even then, it was close). Maybe it was his eternal optimism speaking, but he let himself be hopeful about it as he was torn between enjoying their easy happiness and trying not to intrude on it.

Though, updating Gavin’s medical history was going to be a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to add: Listen. If you don't like the course the fic has taken, I'm sorry that'll prevent you from reading. I hope you find other fics to read. No hard feelings, bye. You really don't need to inform me.
> 
> If you don't like the course of the fic and want to inform me that "mpreg is gross" or whatever, I'm going to delete your comment.
> 
> If you "usually can't staaaaaand mpreg" but this fic is the exception, you can feel free to keep that sentiment to yourself as well.
> 
> I put a lot of conscious effort into keeping this development in the story as free of the usual transphobia of the trope as possible. As such, you will keep your own transphobic, shaming remarks on it to yourself or your comment will be deleted. 
> 
> Thanks.


	5. come home to roost

The boys were gone late into night, and the house helpfully told Griffon when they'd stolen back in through Gavin's balcony. She lay awake for a few minutes, waiting for them to to tap on the door or call for her and Geoff. When that didn't happen, she went back to sleep; clearly the verdict from Jack could wait until morning.

She woke up to the smell of breakfast, which was better than any alarm clock in the world. Geoff, next to her, lifted his head from his pillow and dramatically sniffed the air. "Bacon. Sausage. Hash browns, heavy on the onion. Eggs done in the bacon grease with... swiss. No, gouda."

Griffon patted his chest fondly. "You're a very talented man." She was only half-sarcastic. Gouda sounded _good_. Enough to climb out of bed for.

Michael was manning the kitchen, running the stovetop with a few skillets. Gavin was sitting on the counter next to him, eating toast with orange jam, looking bright as the new sun. He looked healthier than yesterday, the lingering illness shucked off him to reveal something much more familiar. The knot in her chest loosened.

"You two are up early," she said, pulling up a stool to the island. There was already a carafe of orange juice out, and she poured a tall glass, watching as Gavin leaned over and tried to steal some of the shredded gouda.

"Stop, asshole," Michael said, moving the bowl of cheese further away from Gavin.

Gavin grinned at him with a menace. "Oh, I'm what now? Are you sure?"

Michael blinked at him, surprised, then looked chided. "You are going to milk this for all it’s worth."

"Mmhm, give me bacon," he demanded and Michael sighed, passing him one with a resigned expression. Which Griffon found a little strange; Michael let Gavin walk all over him, but not usually so blatantly.

"Blackmail," Michael muttered.

Gavin munched loudly at him, practically glowing with some kind of victory. Griffon hummed as she watched their to-and-fro. "What did Dr. Jack say? You two were gone most of the day.”

Gavin waved his hand. “Let’s eat first. Suffice to say I’m not dying.”

Quieter, with some sort of timid caution, Michael said, “Also I’d like to get out of firing range first.”

“Oh, relax.” He hopped off the counter when Geoff shuffled in, fetching plates and trivets for the table. Gavin was _humming_ so Griffon loosened the clenched iron grip she’d had on her worries; it couldn’t be that bad, whatever it was that’d reduced Gavin to a worn-down imitation of himself.

And really, gouda-scrambled eggs took precedent anyway.

Only later was it clear what the plan was. She should have expected something. Gavin was never awake so early without reason and the delicious breakfast spread was a bribe, lulling them into complacency. It was when the plates were cleared that the boys bent their heads together. Michael was shaking his head, eyes hooded, but stilled when Gavin touched his arm, whispering something.

Geoff finished his glass of juice and set it down with a _thunk_ , wiping his mouth. “Okay, I should try to put in some hours at HQ.”

“Hang on,” Gavin said, turning back to the table. Michael, Griffon noticed, remained behind him, putting Gavin’s body between them. “You need to know what’s going on.”

“I thought you said you were fine,” Geoff said.

“I am. I’m definitely fine, that’s probably the first thing you need to know. Jack checked me over thoroughly and I’m okay.”

Griffon’s stomach sunk. There was a _but_ coming and it was going to be something bad. Under the table, she put her hand on Geoff’s leg. Without a word, Geoff laced their fingers together, bracing with the dry warmth of his palms. “That said…?” Geoff prompted.

Gavin’s confidence melted into nervousness. He swayed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his arm, nails scratching at his scars. “That said… Uh, there is…”

Gavin skidded to a halt, and he chewed on his lip, so hard Griffon wanted to make him stop before he drew blood. All the worry she’d been carrying flooded back into her like a sudden tide and this was going to be bad. she could feel it.

“Gavin,” she said.

He half-turned to Michael behind him before stopping jerkily. Whatever it was, he _couldn’t spit it out_.

“Gavin’s been sick because the egg migration process is rough for humans. I put an amaranthine egg in him. It was an accident but since carrying it isn’t dangerous, he’s keeping it. For now.” Michael’s words were clipped and fast.

“Right! That!” Gavin smiled at Michael, relief washing over his face. “Thank you. The words part of it are still hard.”

Griffon’s jaw dropped, a tingly shocked feeling washing over her suddenly. The idea didn’t even sink in right away, just the flush of absolute encompassing surprise covering her like a blanket.

Geoff snapped out of it before her and started laughing. High, giggly laughs that descended into hiccups. It was a helpless sound that kept going until he was making soft, “Hoooo hahaha,” sounds, like he was taking breaks from the full peals of laughter.

Which meant that Griffon was going to kill him with her laser cutter second. Michael, obviously, was first.

“See?” Gavin said to Michael. “Geoff’s having a laugh. It’s fine.”

Michael, though, took one look at Griffon and shuffled back behind Gavin again, holding him by the hips.

Warrior’s instincts.

Griffon stood, leaning both her hands on the table both to loom intimidating and to hold herself up. Her initial shock was fading, sensation coming back like a limb waking up from being sleep.

Next to her, Geoff turned in his chair to lean forward on his knees, still laughing, saying something about birds and eggs. She ignored him.

“You knocked my kid up? _On accident?!_ ”

“Egged,” Geoff said breathlessly. “ _Egged_ him up.”

“Shut up, Geoff,” Griffon and Gavin said in unison. There were some things that they would forever be united in.

“Michael’s not at… egg-making age for his species, but something sped him up,” Gavin explained. “It was actually an accident.”

“How do you accidentally put an egg in someone?!”

Michael somehow made himself smaller, tucked in behind Gavin, using him as a shield. Gavin sighed and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to stand beside him. “Calm down, love, it’s okay.”

“Is it?” Griffon asked. “Gavin, is this your idea of a joke, because--”

“No! It’s not a joke. I got sick for a while and that was bloody awful, but I’m _fine_ now. And if I stop being fine, I can have it removed, it’s really simple.” He looked hard into Griffon’s eyes. “I’m going to Jack every few days to check in. It’s going to be two or three months. And I’m not having a laugh and I know what I’m doing. Trust me, all right?”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Since letting Gavin go off with Michael, it was always in the back of her head, that she could’ve been _wrong_ and something would happen to Gavin while he was out of their reach. One monster that got too close or one wrong turn in a far-off city or something like this, something from Michael.

It often seemed like Griffon was the only person under their roof that saw Michael for what he was. Geoff had worked with him for years, long enough the fear of his immense powers was just worn away. Gavin… was Gavin, he was bold and brilliant until he wasn’t at all, and it was hard to tell the difference on a good day.

Griffon knew in her bones that Michael was something apart from them, a great thing hidden under his knit hats, a wildness behind freckles and amber-light eyes.

This wasn’t unexpected. That it came in the form of _an egg_ inside Gavin, that one she couldn’t have called, but she’d known something would happen.

The silence that fell over the kitchen was stifling. It wilted Gavin, his tall, proud stance sagging, eyes falling from Griffon’s to the floor. Griffon wanted to say the right thing, to pop the bubble of tension in the room, but the words wouldn’t come to her.

She didn’t notice Geoff had gotten himself together until he laid one of his hands over her fist where it was set against the table. “Griffon. You know Jack. He wouldn’t have let Gavin go if he thought he was in serious danger.”

“Geoff,” she said, strained, unsure what to say, how to make it not sound cruel. That wasn’t the point, to be cruel to Gavin, that was the last thing she wanted.

“I know. Not how I imagined becoming a grandparent, but you know, you can’t be picky about these things.” His thumb rubbed against the flesh of her palm, nudging in to unfold her tightly clenched hands. “We never were that traditional anyway, right?”

As though it were that simple, that it was  _nontraditional_ , that it wasn’t a thing inside Gavin, something she didn’t understand.

She looked up and her anger went out like a snuffed candle. Michael was doing that thing, where he floated a few inches off the ground, and Gavin was leaning back against his chest, their arms around each other. Gavin’s eyes were shut, and Michael’s gaze was in the middle distance, not looking at any of them. He curled around Gavin with their faces close, and like that, they looked like they were weathering a storm.

Her storm. Jesus Christ.

She sat down, heavily enough the chair creaked, and put her face in her hands, rubbing her eyes. “Okay. All right. Shit.” She pointed to the chairs across from her and Geoff. “Sit your asses down and tell us _everything_.”

Gavin blinked like he was coming out of a sleep, and it took a moment for him to refocus on Griffon, but once he did, there was a flash of grin again. It was amazing how he turned around like that, from despondent to human sunshine at the drop of a hat. “Promise you’re not going to kill Michael with a laser cutter.”

“I think it’d take more than that.” When neither of them moved, she sighed. “I am not going to kill him, now sit down and _explain_.”

Gavin sat down, but Michael stayed standing behind him, arms draped over his shoulders. One of Gavin’s hands tangled with his, fingers twining, and Griffon got her first lesson in amaranthine reproductive biology.

It wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her day, but at least she wasn’t bored.

Much later in the night, after hours of discussion, serious talks eventually loosening like a long-armed stretch into a few crass jokes and some concrete plans, after leftover Chinese food and drinks that started a debate about whether Gavin was allowed to drink anymore or not, it was then that Griffon caught Michael alone in the hallway and told him, “If this kills him, I’ll kill you.”

“Good,” Michael said with a nod, and walked by her, turning in for the night.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a week for Gavin to get sick again. It was not as thoroughly debilitating as the last time though; Griffon could tell by the volume of Gavin’s complaints. Everyone in the house was aware of how nauseous he felt at all times and were expected to fetch him drinks and blankets at his whim.

That stopped on the second day, when Geoff snorted and said, “I’m not the one who egged you up. Michael can fetch you drinks.” Which might not have stuck if not for how Michael immediately did. Giving in was his doom; Gavin looked at Michael and clearly saw him as his new butler. There was no going back on that now.

Gavin had his first appointment with Jack and came back to say, “Yeah, it’s the egg. I can feel it and it’s making me sick. Mostly a mental thing.” He slumped in the armchair he’d taken to stealing from Geoff, curling up around a pillow held to his stomach. “I’ll adjust soon.”

The house around them felt strange, like it was shifted off its foundations and teetering somehow. None of them really knew what to do about Gavin. At first, turtling seemed like the best idea, keeping things safe. It was certainly Michael’s idea; as more news idea about BYTE and Captain America and Narvaroth made their way through the media circus, Michael watched and stayed close.

“I’m not leaving Gavin like this when Narvaroth’s out of lock-up,” he explained when Geoff brought up the plans to fly out to New York and talk to Haywood. There was a finality to his statement, and he so rarely put his foot down like that, it was impossible to ignore.

But Griffon and Geoff, after a while, fell back into routine. There was work to be done, oversight and new projects and negotiations and the occasional jumped up villainous upstart that needed to be put down. There wasn’t anything more they could really do for Gavin. It felt to her like a really mundane crisis scenario. Things were not the same by any means but there wasn’t anything that needed to be done about it except driving Gavin to see Jack twice a week. Even that was relaxed to once a week after a while.

Griffon was desperate for some gesture. After the rocky start they had, Gavin was just slightly cautious around her, like he was expecting something rash. That wasn’t unwarranted, really, but she couldn’t let it alone.

Her gesture of peace was bought at yard sale she passed on her way home from the office one evening. It cost five dollars and came in shoebox that she slapped a gaudy ribbon to the top of before giving it to Gavin.

He opened his present and groaned as he read the spines of the books inside. _The Sheriff’s Secret Baby. The CEO’s Unexpected Ultimatum. Tycoon’s Revenge: Baby for the Billionaire. Valentwins Day. Parisian Surprise Delivery. Pregnesia._ All well-loved books with cracked spines and thin pages. Griffon was satisfied with it. This was a less-cliche alternative to a copy of _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_.

“You’re uniquely awful,” Gavin told her, voice laden with deep respect and horror as he picked up one and flipped through it.

“Thank you.” She brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead.

Later, as the sun was sinking low beyond the treeline that surrounded the estate, she spotted Gavin on the porch swing, sitting with a pillow behind his back as he reclined. His feet were in Michael’s lap and he had one of the books out. She didn’t have to hear him to know he was reading aloud in an animated, mocking voice. Michael was listening and rubbing Gavin’s leg with a distracted hand, and there was a confused expression on his face, like whatever he was being subjected to just didn’t make any sense.

Griffon had not picked the books for their sound plots, though, so that was fine.

Before long, the house was back to some kind of routine. The timing was perfect for a wrench in the works.

There was a proximity alarm one afternoon, coming a moment before a knock on the door. Griffon opened it to former-Commander Sorola, standing on her welcome mat and looking like an imposter in civvies and a cap pulled down over his eyes. The cognitive dissonance of Sorola in jeans and a tee was _intense_ , which Griffon would later claim was the only reason he got invited in.

“You’re far away from home,” Griffon told him.

“Don’t I know it. Even a non-stop flight is four fucking hours.” There was no way Sorola didn’t know how unwelcome he was on the Ramsey’s property, but he showed no sign of noticing the cold atmosphere, nor caring. “I’m not here for a friendly visit. I need to talk to your family.”

She let him in, still surprised that he was real and not some weird hallucination. It was the jeans. Making the connection between jeans and Sorola was like trying to force the positive side of two magnets together: as she got closer, her brain resisted more and more.

In the living room, the boys and Geoff were playing on the big screen. They all regarded Sorola with the same sort of bafflement Griffon had, none of them even remembering to pause their game. GAME OVER flashed prominently on the TV.

“Thanks for having me,” Sorola said, like he’d been invited over. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.” He looked to Gavin, who was less man and more blanket burrito by now, the armchair filled with him and his duvet. “Dr. Ramsey-Free, congratulations are in order, I think.”

Geoff tossed his controlled onto the coffee table, where it clacked loudly against the glass, and stood. “And how the fuck do you know about that?”

“BYTE knows,” Sorola said. “And I still have sympathetic people there. I hear things.”

“And how did _they_ hear it?”

“I’m not here to talk about the gossip chain we call an intelligence network.” He paused, for just a moment, then revised: “There are people watching Dr. Pattillo very carefully. Information leaked from him.”

 _Fucking espionage_ , Griffon thought bitterly.

Michael got a far-away look on his face, lips curved downward unhappily upon hearing that. After a second, Griffon figured out why; Narvaroth probably knew about Gavin.

“Best you speak your piece,” Griffon said to Sorola.

“Not even going to offer me a drink? No, it’s fine, I probably deserve that. Giant fuck-off needle, I’ve been told.” It could have been a self-deprecating joke from anyone else, but Sorola’s face remained baseline stoic and vaguely annoyed, like it’d gotten stuck that way when he was young. “I am going to assume you’ve all been following the Narvaroth situation.”

“Yeah, how the fuck did that even happen?” Geoff asked. “I thought people who went into whatever dark hole you put them in didn’t come back out?”

“That was how it worked before Haywood. This is the first time anyone has been released.” Sorola crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back on his heels. “It’s increasingly clear that Haywood has been compromised. My people say that Narvaroth and Haywood are working closely together on something, that this media blitz is just one part of a bigger plan.”

“What plan?” Gavin asked, his voice more level than Griffon would have expected. He didn’t usually react well to even _discussion_ of Narvaroth.

“No idea. My top espionage agent is on him most of the time, but Haywood and Narvaroth sequester themselves and our fine listening devices don’t play well with aliens,” Sorola explained. “But it’s nothing good.”

Geoff rolled his eyes. “And if we believe all this, then you’ve got a bridge to sell us, right?”

“Ramsey,” Sorola started.

“Let me guess this one, because I think I got the idea-- you want us to get together and help you storm the castle, BYTE castle, and put you back in charge,” Geoff said, spitting words fast like bullets.

Sorola bristled, teeth bared in a furious expression. “You fucking _know_ Narvaroth is bad news.”

“No shit! Have you seen the character assassination bullshit the two of them have been peddling?” Geoff stood up and stepped deliberately into Sorola’s line of sight to Gavin and Michael. It was a rare thing, for Geoff to command a presence beyond his easy slouch and sleepy eyes. “You want Iron Man and Mogar to react to Captain America’s popular and allegedly successful regime with an assault of some kind? There’s no way that could turn out wrong!”

“Don’t you have a duty?” Sorola hurled back, composure breaking. “You’re the man in the suit, Mogar has more power than anyone has been able to quantify, and you’re going to say no when I need you? When the world needs you?”

Griffon knew Sorola had just lost. To be fair, he’d lost this fight years ago. The problem was when Sorola looked at Geoff, he seemed to see Geoff as the persona that Iron Man wore when it was the other way around and always been. “We know what’s at stake,” Griffon said quietly, and all eyes turned to her. Geoff let out a silent sigh, always glad when she drew people’s attention. She was more used to it, commanded it with more ease than he did. “What you fail to understand is what’s at stake for us.”

Sorola was still for a moment, and she had to give him credit; his eyes didn’t so much as flick to Gavin. He did look to Michael. “Same answer as them?”

Michael winced. “Today, yes.”

“Wonderful. Fucking christ,” Sorola said. “I’ll show myself out.”

As he went, clearly in a rush, Griffon followed him to the door. Behind her, she could hear Geoff winding up for a rant, as he was wont to do. She loved her husband but in some ways he was really predictable. Incapable of holding a grudge except for the grudge.

Not that it wasn’t earned. Not that Geoff didn’t have very good reason to tell Sorola no. Michael, as well. That said, the fact that Sorola came to them for help was a sign of the times, and these were dark times.

They couldn’t stay hidden in their safe little bunker of a house forever. It was going to become a ruined rabbit hole as soon as the wolves came around. There was no need to back them into a corner when they were going to do it fine themselves.

So, at the front porch, Griffon asked, “How long are you in town for?”

Pausing in the middle of his step, Sorola stopped, turning to regard Griffon, his irritated expression put away for a blandly interested one. “How long do I need to be in town for?”

 

* * *

 

Griffon lost count of the teeth-rottingly sweet scenes she came home to in her living room. Gavin pretty much lived in his armchair. By his own admission, he was getting tired much easier with the weight of the egg in him. If there was anything certain about Gavin, it was that he liked his little domestic routines. Lately, he woke up, gingerly deposited himself downstairs, and then tried not to move if he could help it for most of the day.

One afternoon, after one of his trips to see Jack, she’d found him sitting inverted in the chair, his legs swung over the back of it, his body upside down and his upper back against the cushion. “What’re you doing?” she had asked.

“I have a fucking heavy ball sitting in my gut. I’m trying to get it to be heavy the other way for a while,” Gavin had answered, tempestuous and surly. “How is this a thing people do regularly? It bloody well sucks.”

Griffon had shrugged and reached down to ruffle his hair. “Don’t look at me. When I wanted a kid, I cheated and stole one from England and skipped the whole baby and asshole teenager parts entirely.”

“You are a wise woman. We don’t tell you that enough.” He’d grimaced and rubbed his navel, like it was sore. “What in the buggering fuck was I thinking?”

“Love, family, shit like that.”

Unimpressed, Gavin had said, “Load of toss,” and went back to watching TV upside-down.

But, all of that aside, there were other days. Griffon got used to seeing Gavin and Michael tucked close together by necessity. More often than not, she found Gavin napping, sitting across Michael’s lap and dozing against his shoulder or laying with the armchair pulled back to recline, Michael pressed against his back and palming his skin just under his shirt.

This afternoon, she was sitting with the boys in the living room, reading some reports from Nevada’s facility and definitely not listening in as they had one of those conversations that was as dreaded as it was inevitable.

“You’re going to like Geoff’s suggestions,” Gavin was saying, waving his fork at Michael. He had a whole baked potato, one with salted skin and sour cream and cheese and everything, working his way through it. It was a snack, apparently. Gavin hadn’t developed strange cravings over the past month, but tended to eat more, full meals and big midday snacks, ravenous and lethargic in turns. It was one of the only signs that he was egged up, along with the sleeping and the frequent hot baths.

“I’m pretty sure I won’t,” Michael replied, but he was smiling.

“We’ve got Princess Dahlia Stormcloud Ramsey-Free-Jones,” he went on, reciting carefully, “or Prince Chuck Lightning Ramsey-Free-Jones.”

“Holy shit. How long has he been saving those up?”

“He bloody well called me from a meeting to tell me.” Gavin ate quietly for a moment, then said, “You shoot down all the names.”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry.”

“I mean, I was kidding about half of them, but you always fall into a sulk. Names are important, you know.”

“More than you know,” Michael said. “Look, I’m… not being fair about this shit. Amaranths take names seriously, they mean a lot to us. The first name has to be…” He waved his hand, like he could grasp for the words he needed. “Open. Humans, you name people after yourselves, you put these-- _expectations_ on children. It’s weird.” He looked to Griffon and asked, “Your name, Ramsey. You picked that, didn’t you?”

It took her a moment to nod. She hadn’t expected to be included in the conversation. “Geoff and I, yeah.”

“A new name at a new part of your life,” Michael said. “I picked Michael when I stopped being Mogar. It’s-- when an amaranth chooses their name, it’s a sign. That the old name is over, that _person_ is over, and they become someone new. Every amaranth has two names at least: the one their family gives them and the one they become when they know who they are.”

“Like, literally?” Gavin’s brow creased as the thought that over.

“Close to it, yeah. I picked Mogar when I became the bridge guardian.” He tapped the prismatic chunk hanging around Gavin’s neck for emphasis.

It clicked with Griffon, what that meant. “You had another name before Mogar then, right?”

Michael smiled, bowing his head, shoulders slumping. The nostalgia that hit him was so obvious, Griffon could see it, read it from the distant look in his eyes. “Yeah. Family lines tend to name their children when they’re settled into a clutch. Always something… neutral. Like, amaranths don’t, um.” His cheeks went pink. “They’re not boys or girls when they’re born. They decide what they’re going to be on their own and even then it’s malleable. So we use names without expectation when we can.”

“Who were you?” Gavin asked softly, staring at Michael intently.

Michael licked his lips. “The… there’s a theme. The last royal bloodline, they used… names based on time? Eon, Millen, Tempor, stuff like that. My family, the tradition is music.” He looked down at his jeans, like the fraying bits at his knees were the most captivating thing in the world. “Coda, my brother. Stretto, my sister. Lento, my oldest sibling.” He swallowed, audibly. “Father, the Burning King, he named me Kapelle.” He tipped his head to the side, just enough to meet Gavin’s gaze. “Do those… translate?”

Gavin nodded. “They do. They’re beautiful in English. Or, not English but…”

“The Romance languages, sounds like,” Griffon offered, and Gavin nodded.

“Kapelle,” Gavin said slowly, trying the name out.

“I’m not him. Haven’t been for a long time,” Michael said, again with that funny sad smile. “But that’s why. Look, ignore me. It’s your pick. I’m just worrying about shit. Everything’s different here, you don’t even have clutch gardens or renamings or any of it. I don’t know how it’ll work.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Gavin set his empty plate aside and wriggled closer to Michael, resting his cheek on his shoulder.

Michael didn’t look convinced. It was increasingly clear to Griffon how the two of them worked. Yes, Michael was the one with all the knowledge of how this strange alien thing worked, of what needed to be done, but under all the trappings of being some kind of god living in a paper world, he worried.

It was Gavin who thought it was all going to work out, with the simple-minded optimism that Griffon couldn’t help but think she helped ingrain into him. It was the unrelenting truth they had whispered into him every day after they stole him, when they said to hell with immigration bullshit just because they thought they were bigger than all of that. _Everything will be all right_.

What a pair the boys made. As much as she wanted to use Gavin’s egg situation as some kind of proof that Michael was too much of an unknown for Gavin, the more she saw them like this, the more hollow it felt. Gavin was less swept away by Michael and more the anchor Michael clung to.

Griffon turned back to her reports and stared at the words on the page, barely parsing them as she thought about herself and late nights laying with her head on Geoff’s arm in the early days of Ramsey Enterprises, talking to him in math and engineering that he probably only understood half of, and how that was still enough for him to turn it all around into something that made sense. He stood like a conduit between her and what she needed.

In her own head, she always thought Gavin was more like her. Now, as she watched from the corner of her eye as Michael played with Gavin’s little ponytail, she wasn’t so sure.

 

* * *

It was the late afternoon in Austin when Griffon met with Sorola at the quietest hotel bar she knew. There was no one else in the service area and one bored bartender who was paying more attention to their phone than anything else. Two different sports channels were playing, TVs held aloft, their sound overlapping and meshing into something incomprehensible. Sorola was waiting for her, having a beer in a corner booth, out of sight of the entryway and of the one plane of windows in the place.

“Nice,” Griffon said as she sat down.

“What did you want to see me for?” Sorola asked, right into business.

“You want to take out Haywood and Narvaroth. I’m willing to be your big guns.”

Sorola sat back in his chair slowly. “Ramsey. Are you offering what I think you are?”

“Extremis is more powerful than the suit anyway,” she said curtly. “Look, the fact of the matter is that Geoff and I can’t both come to your aid. We have the company to think of. We have Gavin to think of. If both of us were taken out, it’d be catastrophic.”

“We aren’t going to fuck this up,” Sorola said. “I have people on the inside, good people.”

“Maybe you do.” She shrugged. “Maybe you don’t. Either way, you can’t have both of us and Michael isn’t going to leave Gavin to take on the BYTE establishment while Gavin’s vulnerable. Not going to happen.” She looked hard into his eyes, honey gold against Sorola’s dark nut brown. “You can have me.”

Sorola’s face was a blank slate as he thought it over, giving nothing away. There were statues that moved more tellingly than he did. Eventually he nodded once, picking up his beer and draining it. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and got up from the booth. A moment later, he was gone, nothing but his bottle left of his presence.

Griffon clasped her hands together, tucking them under her chin, hoping this was the right thing. All she could do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You want a fun exercise? Try to guess which of the terrible pregnant romance novel titles I made up and which are real.


	6. come up for air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so if you are following this fic as its posted, you may notice this is chapter six. you may have already read a chapter that claimed to be chapter six. it was an imposter and is now chapter seven. this is the real chapter six.
> 
> basically: i fucked up the character development arc of the story and wrote this as a strong remedy to the situation. my apologies for any confusion. we will return to out usual mach speed plot machinations very shortly. thank you.

Michael had always thought of Geoff Ramsey as one of his few friends on this planet he’d been banished to. He was a good battle-forged ally who was fast to ask Michael out for a beer after every scrape they found themselves in. He was one of the five numbers programmed into Michael’s phone. He was uniquely unafraid of all Michael was and was capable of.

He was also sort of an asshole.

They were sitting in the kitchen together. Griffon had already left for some sort of meeting she needed to attend, leaving them to make bacon-pineapple-cheese breakfast sandwiches on sweet bread, working through their mornings leisurely. That was, if ten-twenty was still really _morning_.

For a certain someone in the house, it was. Michael’s phone was on the table and buzzed, the display lighting up with a new text that just read: _food?_

Geoff, because, again: asshole, leaned over to look at the screen and laughed. “We should get him a bell pull.”

Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If he protested the idea too much, Geoff would be much more likely to make good on it just for the laugh. It was an affliction the whole Ramsey-Free family shared, a loving antagonism towards each other. Michael mostly tried to stay out of the way of the flames.

Another message popped up on his phone: _drink too?_

Geoff grinned. “Send not to know for whom the bell tolls because I sure as shit ain’t answering that.”

No kidding. It’d taken a very short amount of time before Michael became Gavin’s primary attendant. Griffon had used the term _valet_ with a smirk that worried Michael. He got up, finishing off his coffee with one last swallow. “I thought we were friends, Geoff.”

“Yeah, and then you got my kid pregnant,” he said. “I can either chase you out of the house with a shotgun or this.”

“This is worse than a shotgun,” Michael muttered, but made his way upstairs. He ducked out the kitchen’s patio door and quickly flew over the roof, landing expediently on Gavin’s balcony.

It was something he got into the habit of doing. Constantly restraining himself to how humans moved was tiring, and sometimes he just wanted to stretch out a bit. It reminded him of how to fill his body the way he was meant to. It was a homey thing, being around people who didn’t bat an eye at his casual flight and utility of his talents.

And homes, lately, were very important to him. Or, the pieces that he thought of as home. Fitting them with what Gavin thought of as a home wasn’t always easy, but they were working on that part.

Gavin was still in bed, predictably enough. He was propped up on pillows and had his tablet on his lap, fingers tapping light and quick against the surface as he worked away at something. When his balcony door opened, he looked up, smiled, then stopped. “Food?” he asked. “Drink?”

“Downstairs?” Michael answered, climbing onto the bed and knee-walking over to Gavin. “Getting out of bed?”

Gavin huffed. “Too much effort.” He paused. “And my back hurts again.”

That softened Michael, like chocolate left in the sun. He tucked around Gavin, hand slipping under his shorts to press against the bottom of his spine. Gavin abandoned his tablet, instead curling around Michael, laying against his shoulder and humming happily as Michael started kneading.

“Another month,” Michael said softly. “Maybe two on the outside.”

“I know. I’m fine, honestly.”

Michael knew that. Everyone kept a close eye on Gavin to make sure. It was hard to resolve the tense worry in Michael’s gut; he really had seen so many coupling with different species back home in Oestret Roethe, had never heard of serious complications. Still, Gavin was plainly affected by playing host to the egg, everything from sleeping more, to finding himself shivering despite it being the middle of summer in Texas, and the little aches and pains like now. None of those were serious, but each one weighed on Michael, because there was always that worry of _what if_.

Michael inhaled sharply, tucking his nose into Gavin’s hair. It was getting to where it’d need a trim soon, even as long as Gavin had started wearing it, tied back in his little ponytail. Because he could and was allowed, Michael tugged the tie loose, letting it all fall around Gavin’s face. He heard Gavin sigh, exasperated and fond, as Michael dragged his fingers through it. It wasn’t Michael’s fault that it slipped so nicely through his fingers, soft and smelling like citrus and mint from Gavin’s shampoo.

Gavin didn’t complain, even leaned more into Michael’s embrace. His back arched a bit and Michael pressed up and down it, rubbing against where he imagined the aches were.

“Mmhm,” Gavin mumbled, eyes half-lidded and sleepy. “As nice as this is, lovely boy... food?”

Michael snorted. “Okay, okay. Food.” He reluctantly detangled them, extracting himself from the warm intimacy he’d burrowed into with Gavin. He stood, and helped Gavin up. “And drink?”

Gavin smiled. “There you go.”

 

* * *

 

It reminded him of Amsterdam a bit. Being so carefully ensconced in the Ramseys’ ranch house had that feeling of being almost home and yet being a guest. There was no place Michael would rather be while Gavin had the egg in him, but it also wasn’t where he imagined raising their child.

Well, the raising the child didn’t occur to him until much later, after the initial shock of joy at having an egg and Gavin being receptive to it faded, leaving the realities of the situation to be handled.

Gavin was the sensible one about everything, which should not have been surprising. Michael expected better of himself than buying into Gavin’s aloof facade.

But even so, it was rough to find Gavin down in his design lab with his blue light suite on. Blueprints of buildings were in front of him as he leaned back on his desk, one hand wrapped low around his abdomen in an absent curl around the egg. He looked up when Michael came in, flashed a smile, but returned his attention to the suite. With each wave of his hands, he swept each design aside until another took its place. “Hello, boy.”

“Consultation work?”

“No. Looking at properties we own. Or, Geoff and Griffon.” He flipped past another. “I doubt we can get moved into something before I’m due to pop, but it’s nice to have an idea.”

“Idea,” Michael murmured, watching as each blueprint appeared and vanished. That was right. They needed a place. There were no clutch gardens on Earth. There were no guardians. They needed a place because _they_ were going to raise the new amaranth child.

“I don’t like any of these, though,” Gavin said. “But I’m obviously not an expert.”

Michael realized with a start that Gavin was looking at him, clearly expecting his input on the matter. It made him flush, nervous and almost afraid of how little he had to say on the spot. “I… You know that anywhere is fine, right?” he said, because at the end of the day, that is what it came down to. The flat in Amsterdam was home. The bedroom upstairs was home. The car they’d rented in France and slept in after getting lost away from their hotel was home. For Michael, the location wasn’t the thing.

Gavin nodded. “Yes, but it still has to be _somewhere_.”

That made sense. Michael waited until Gavin looked back to his browsing before letting out the tense breath he was holding in. At least one of them knew what they were doing. Michael was aware that he was the one with all the information here, was even made to sit down with Jack and tell him everything he could remember of the process to ensure Gavin would survive playing host to Michael’s egg. But the rest of it was difficult.

Gavin shut down his suite and pushed off from the desk, reaching out. Michael gave him an arm, supporting him and helping him upstairs. “Nap time?”

“Mm,” Gavin hummed, and it was funny to see a man’s eyes light up with such avarice for something like a midday nap. “You should throw on a game, let me listen to you play.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed. Silently, he wondered how Gavin looked at the blue lines of his lab and resolved them into something like home.

 

* * *

 

Putting Gavin down for a nap on the sofa gave Michael time to stretch his legs, so to speak.

Austin had been getting some decent weather for the season, dry as a bone and air thick and hot. It took a lot of constant restraint to maintain that, and the sensation in Michael was like a valve screwed too tight. It built up, pressure in his blood, until he took off for a flight.

He could paint lazy spirals just above the cloud layer over Austin. A cold front rolled in from nowhere, coming to greet him with cool fingers of condensation and humid wind through his hair. He wallowed in it a bit, soaking in the feeling, taking deep breaths that filled his lungs to bursting and sighing them out softly as he spun onto his back.

He wouldn’t stay away for long. There was too much to worry about. Or, just the one big thing to worry about with Narvaroth’s release from detention hanging over them all like a shroud. Michael couldn’t tell if he was being overprotective or not protective enough. Narvaroth felt like another life, a far off distant terror come again.

He should have killed him. He couldn’t have done it, but he should have.

There was a blue-grey sky over the city when Michael touched down in an alleyway. A hand swept through his damp hair, making it look less flight-tousled and more presentable. He strolled out casually from between the buildings, watching all the people around him glaring meekly at the sky, hiding under awnings or umbrellas, and he smirked. Austinites were so easily defeated by weather it was a running joke in the Ramsey-Free household.

Michael would need a change of clothes when he got back, but for a while he just walked through the city, looking into the windows of shops and restaurants, waiting for something to catch his attention.

He really did not intend to get sidetracked in a craft store before going home, but that sort of just happened. He stopped paying attention to where he was walking and suddenly he was standing under a plastic tent that pinged with raindrops as he looked at skeins of yarn, picking through gauges and colors and materials. Rubbing each between his fingers, he thought about how there was going to be at least another month of Gavin whining anytime he had to get out from under his blankets, the cool feeling that settled in his bones as the egg drew in all the heat Gavin could spare.

A throw might be good. Michael could make a fast cardigan if Gavin would deign to wear the damn thing. He looked at some of the baby yarn and frowned at it as he felt it. It was soft, so much so he felt the way it would fall apart and fray.

There was no metal cloth here, sturdy and gleaming in the sun, tough enough to withstand anything an amaranth child could throw at it. Michael could remember the blanket he’d came blinking into the world on, the one he dragged around his clutch, wore around his hips as a skirt, slept under for years. It might’ve still been where he left it, in his private quarters in the Citadel, laid over the chest at the foot of his bed. That was, if the royal family maintained the rooms of the disgraced prince. Probably not.

Michael bought a bag full of yarn, even though none of them felt like what he was looking for. His weird resurgence of homesickness didn’t solve anything, and there were things his idle hands could do. He could still make something for whoever it was that would come from that egg. It might not be as advanced as what Michael had been given along with the name Kapelle, but he’d come up with something nice. Yarn would be easier to repair than metal cloth anyway.

Because he could, he took off from there, his spoils slung over his shoulder as he lifted off, straight into the air, dodging the tents of the outdoor market to return to the open sky above Austin, smirking at the shocked gasps and pointing fingers as he went. The Ramseys must be rubbing off on him.

He finally pointed himself towards home, taking his time on the way. It was late enough in the day that Geoff or Griffon would be home with Gavin, and Michael didn’t feel so bad about his quick flight turning into an afternoon away from the ranch house. It wasn’t much trouble to slip into the house through the balcony, dry off with a towel, and change into dry clothes.

Downstairs, Gavin was awake, his hair mussed but eyes alert as he worked at his tablet and had a beer. It’d been a point of contention early on, whether he was allowed to drink with the egg. Learning about humans and the many, many complications possible when pregnant had been one of the least fun times of Michael’s life, but helped him understand. Now, Gavin didn’t drink like he used to, but didn’t say no to an evening bev either.

Geoff was with him, still in what passed for his business attire: nice jeans, a tee, and suit jacket. He was flicking through TV channels, but it was the time of day where all the news programs were coming on, and he refused to linger on any of them. No one in the house wanted to hear the latest developments on the BYTE front from clueless newscasters who bought into Captain America’s narrative.

“Do you want to go back to the land of crumpets and monarchs?” Geoff asked.

“No. God, no,” Gavin said, making a face. Michael never got the impression Gavin felt connected to England. “But… somewhere further from the equator.” He bit the end of his stylus, worrying at it. “Snow is important. Children should have snow.”

Michael made his presence known by dropping his bag on the floor next to Gavin and swooping in to kiss his temple. He leaned back again and said, “Nowhere you don’t know the local language. You’re too fucking lazy to learn and I’m not going to be your interpreter.”

Gavin laughed. “All right, that’s fair.” He wrote down a note.

Geoff’s advice varied from being helpful (“You want a major city you like, then to be just outside city limits.”) and not (“Pick Chicago so I can visit every year for the music festivals and not pay out the ass for a fucking decent hotel room on the Mag Mile.”). Michael narrowed his eyes at him, honestly expecting a bit more from the guy who’d built his own home, but Geoff just made an exaggerated squinty face back at him.

Michael needed better friends.

Geoff did, however, lean over the back of Gavin’s chair and tugged at his ponytail. “Don’t worry about distance. I can always suit up to fly over and visit Princess Dahlia Stormcloud.”

Gavin smiled and nodded. “I’m sure Taylor would be happy to see you.”

Michael said, “No,” without elaboration, and the two of them laughed. It was a joke by now, the name thing. Michael knew Gavin was still looking into it, but was cagey when asked. Apparently Michael would have to just wait and see what he eventually settled on. He owed Gavin that bit of trust anyway.

“Did you have fun stirring up a storm?” Gavin asked him as he settled in next to him, casting on some stitches, still not certain what he’d be making.

“There wasn’t even any thunder, don’t be dramatic,” Michael said. “And yeah. It was nice.”

Gavin smiled, not entirely happily. “I wish I could go with. I’m just so bloody tired lately…”

“I’ll take you anywhere you want after the egg’s settled,” Michael said. “It’ll have to sit for another month after you’re done with it. Griffon and Geoff can watch it, we’ll go somewhere.”

The soft pink of Gavin’s tongue held between his teeth as he smiled then was ruinous. Michael lost track of what his hands were doing, staring at the way Gavin looked, pleased and quietly excited. “We’ll have places to look into by then anyway,” he said.

“Yeah…” Michael stared at him, because sometimes it was very hard not to, until he snapped out of it and ducked his head, back to his knitting.

Upon coming back from her day seeing to one of the estimated three dozen performance spaces she owned in Austin and hearing that Gavin was looking for homes, Griffon was ready to help. In her own way. She tapped her fingers to her chin, deep in thought, before offering, “There was that beautiful facility in New Mexico that Heyman built and never fucking used. It’s a waste to leave it out there.”

Gavin frowned. “I’m not so keen on…” He looked to Michael, a silent ask for help.

“Turning the remnants of your enemy’s defeat into a symbol of your prosperity?” Michael said.

“Yes, that.”

Griffon agreed with a slow nod, as if that idea only just occurred to her. “Less bloodthirsty, right. And something with a good school district for Vivian.”

“School districts,” Michael muttered, remembering that, right, humans did that differently too.

“We can build you a place,” Griffon went on. “It’d be easier that way. I always regret the hassle it was putting in the fabrication and design labs after the main house. Always handle that shit first, then the main building.”

Gavin bit his lip, looking at Michael again. “That would take a while though.”

Michael hoped that Gavin couldn’t feel his frustration. It was bubbling in him, though, hard to ignore. The entire thing seemed so complicated. Building a home and being expected to not mess everything up… Human society being so far from what Michael knew had never bothered him because it’d never affected him so much. Before he could stand aside and observe, think how curious and strange it was, and then move on. Now, all the differences were suddenly obvious and extremely important and so myriad he couldn’t keep them all straight in his head.

“Open spaces,” Michael said, and Gavin and Griffon looked at him, wearing twin expressions of surprise. Whatever they’d been discussing, he’d lost track of, and felt a flush of embarrassment. “Uh. We’ll need space for when the affinities show up. The royal family tends to have strong elemental affinities.”

“Is that why your ruler is called the Burning King? Fire affinity?” Griffon asked.

Michael nodded. “Fire of the hearth and fire of war, or so they sing.” What he was thinking of was something closer; his young years, when he was Kapelle and first started to feel the crackle and hum of the air around him and how it would flow through any metal he touched, building up until his errant curls stuck out like a corona around his head and he chased around his clutchmates, reaching to give them a zap until the guardians caught him at it and put a stop to that. As far as Michael knew, his father had never singed anyone when he was young.

Public school with humans who wouldn’t understand. No garden guardians to rely on. Michael took some deep, quelling breaths.

Gavin must’ve felt that, the growing, tensile cord between the two of them getting to the point Gavin could just look at Michael and know. It was terrifying, so much more than Michael expected, especially at his age, but it was worth it for Gavin squeezing Michael’s leg and smiling. “It’ll be all right, love.”

Michael nodded and willed Gavin to be right.

 

* * *

 

There was, off in New York, Narvaroth.

Michael didn’t like to talk about that.

Everyone else did. The news was often peppered to references to BYTE and their rebranding mission and their new public face and-- Narvaroth, hiding behind dark-rimmed glasses and the same smile he played for all the elders at home when he and Mogar were caught out where they shouldn’t be.

Michael thought about that life a lot lately. It had been some time since he put Mogar to rest, sealed away and buried where he couldn’t hurt anyone again. So much about Mogar stung him with pricks of regret and shame for the sort of person he’d been.

But there was an amaranth due to be born on Earth and more than anything, that made Michael think of Oestret Roethe.

He didn’t miss it. Or, he didn’t have the right to miss it.

It had never felt further away.

That night, Gavin crashed around nine, slumping over on the sofa with his head on Griffon’s lap, snoring softly. Griffon smiled and tweaked his ear before turning back to the report she was reading, her hand on Gavin’s shoulder. Michael could have taken that moment to bring Gavin upstairs and tuck him in for the night.

Instead, he excused himself and headed downstairs to the fabrication lab. There, Griffon had plenty of spare materials and didn’t mind Michael messing with them.

He meant to make something out of them. He selected long curved pieces of metal and planes of some plasticky material that had just a little bit of give to them as he gripped them. He found actual pen and paper (which he hadn’t thought _existed_ in the high-tech haven the Ramseys lived in) and sketched some ideas, thinking about weight and support. He didn’t need a lot of room but he needed something strong and balanced.

This was really more of Gavin’s thing, Michael thought. It would take Gavin probably ninety seconds to put something together in his blue light suite, feed it into the fab lab, and then they’d just have to wait for it to be put together.

But that wasn’t what Michael _wanted_. Gavin was already doing enough and it was essentially Michael’s fault, and that stung him so much and so suddenly, leaping upon him from the shadows of his mind every time he remembered to relax just out of fucking nowhere.

Michael forgot himself, throwing a screwdriver and meaning for it to land on the tool shelf. Instead, it wound up embedded in the fucking wall just next to it, marring the pristine walls with a deep dent.

Of course, that was when Geoff walked in. “Dude,” he said with feeling, eyebrows raised. “This is Texas. We have shooting ranges for that shit.”

“Sorry,” Michael muttered, going to yank the screwdriver out of the wall. There was definitely a hole left in its place. “I’ll… fix that.”

Geoff meandered in, looking at the pile of things Michael had collected. He put one finger on the page Michael was working on, turning it to him. “Ah, okay. You know, we can buy a bassinet.”

“No, it has to be able to withstand the weight,” Michael said, setting the tool more carefully down this time. “And I wanted to do… something.”

Geoff nodded, like he understood. Michael wasn’t sure he did. He hoped so, though. “Sparky, I don’t ever like to tell you your shit, what with you being a god of lightning and a super-advanced alien and all,” he said, and Michael couldn’t help but smile at that. “But you’re being cagey as dicks and Gavin’s not going to say he’s worried, but he’s worried.”

“Shit.” Michael hid his face behind his hands. That was literally the last thing he wanted, fuck. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“S’fine.” Geoff boosted himself to sit on top of a work bench. He picked up one of the spongey plastic bits and idly toyed with it. “As much as I hate to encourage emotions, do you want to talk about it?”

Michael had _no idea._ He wasn’t sure if he should share the bone-deep worry in his chest. If he did, he didn’t know if he’d say it right. Language was sometimes... difficult between him and humans.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Geoff said.

“I don’t know how any of this is going to work,” Michael burst out, and instantly regretted it. He was, however, now committed to this bullshit. Why was it _always_ emotional outbursts with him? Why had he been taken aside by his trainers when he was young and told that his emotions were his fuel and he needed to learn to tap into them like a valve if he wanted to reach his potential? “You guys don’t understand how different everything is here. You have your kids and you raise them yourselves and it’s--” He stopped, shaking his head. “We do it differently where I come from and I don’t know which of us has it right.”

“All right,” Geoff said slowly. “Is this about the… clutch things?”

“We call them gardens. Because, well, they are. Gardens spiraling out from one of our golden apple trees,” Michael said, shutting his eyes. He could still see through Kapelle’s eyes, how he’d been small and staring up at the apples glinting in the red-pink sky above his head. “Eggs are placed there until the garden is full, then they go to the next, and so on. Even the royal family’s eggs, though it wasn’t always like that.”

“So your parents don’t raise you?”

“They-- not like you do.” Michael gripped the back of his neck, squeezing. “Not everyone is cut out for that. There are so many things that hatchlings have to learn and we have guardians who watch over them and show them how to hone their talents. We don’t expect everyone who has young to know how to…” He slumped, shoulder bumping into the wall as it became the only thing holding him up. “I’m afraid of not being good enough to… do it all.”

“You’re going to be fine.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Michael snapped, hackles rising. “I have to teach them to-- to handle their own powers, to speak as I do, to hide their lineage from humans, to be _good_.” He stuttered into a low exhale. “Geoff, I had a perfect upbringing and I turned into an awful person who didn’t care about anything but my own gratification. And now I’m going to have to teach a hatchling. Me.”

“And Gavin,” Geoff said. “And Griffon and I. If we’re gonna fail this, we’ll fail together.”

Michael slumped, unable to hold onto his upset in the face of Geoff’s casual optimism. “I don’t want to fail.”

“I know, sparky.” Geoff stood and walked over to Michael, putting a hand on each of his shoulders. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you it’s gonna go great. But I will tell you your sprog won’t turn into the dipshit you were. We’ve got this, all right?”

“How do you know?” Michael said, too loud. He stopped, bowing his head and taking a deep breath, smoothing down his frayed calm. He had to be better than this. He asked again, voice level, “How do you _know_?”

Geoff shrugged. “I do. I’ve watched Gavin create mind-blowing designs mostly on accident. I’ve seen Griffon build one of the most successful R&D companies in the world out of a tiny Texas contractor. And you aren’t too shabby yourself.” His hands tightened on Michael’s shoulders. “This fucking family’s capable of shit that shouldn’t even be possible. Stop worrying about the maybes and how shit’s supposed to happen where you come from, start figuring out how it’s gonna be here and now.”

Oh. Right. Michael remembered why Geoff was probably his best friend. The man behind the Iron Man suit who had no innate powers except being able to lazily beat everyone into submission with basic rationality. It was easy to see how much their family needed that. Michael had forgotten, or maybe he was just that close now.

Part of him felt awful for being another person that Geoff Ramsey had to look after as his own. The rest of him was just _grateful_.

Geoff’s hands slipped off Michael’s shoulders. “You look about 60 per cent less panicked now. You need help with your little project here or can I sleep?”

“This is for me to do,” Michael said. “But thank you.”

“Anytime, sparky. Or, anything before midnight. I need my beauty sleep.” He grinned at Michael and patted him on the head, like he wasn’t about two hundred years older than Geoff and all, before making his way out of the lab.

Michael sat in the lab with the almost imperceptible hum of the machinery and electricity around him, soaking in that quiet to his bones until the fearful thing living inside the cage of his ribs settled down. Then, he picked through the tool shelf, looking for a welder. He had work to do.

 

* * *

 

Michael was surprised when he finally surfaced out of the labs. The light in the living room was still on and Gavin was sitting in the armchair, his head turned to the window where streaks of rain were darting down the glass and flickering with the low light. Gavin was awake, shockingly enough, and biting his thumb nail as he watched the rain, heedless to the fact it was getting closer to morning than night and he needed the rest.

The tension in him was obvious. Michael kept his footsteps light as he walked over to him, not wanting him to startle. When he was close, Gavin blinked and looked up at him. “Hm?”

“It’s late,” Michael told him, voice just over a whisper. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Gavin said, looking away again. “Mostly.”

“What does mostly mean?”

Gavin frowned and started to speak only to stop before a single word made it out. Instead, he let out an explosive sigh and sagged sideways in his chair, head lolling. “My back is doing this bloody irritating clench-unclench thing. I feel like I weigh a solid ton and inertia is suddenly my greatest nemesis. I’m trying to figure out things like where to live and where to raise a kid when three months ago I never thought seriously about that.” He rubbed his face, covering his eyes with his hand. “I’m so tired, but my brain won’t shut up and let me sleep. And I’m tired of being tired. I feel like-- like I miss maintaining damn consciousness for ten hours straight.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “So, yes, mostly all right.”

Michael couldn’t bear not to touch him then. He circled around the chair and knelt, nudging Gavin’s knees wider to fit in close enough to take Gavin’s hands in his, bringing them to his mouth to hold them against his lips. Maybe he could focus hard enough to drag all of that out of Gavin, take the weight from him until he was _actually_ all right. “It’s okay,” he said, useless.

But Gavin nodded. “It is. I know that. I’m just… overwhelmed sometimes.” He freed one of his hands to cup Michael’s head, fingers carding through his hair and thumb rubbing in little circles.

“You’re fucking amazing,” Michael murmured against Gavin’s knuckles. “You had this shit sprung on you because I wasn’t paying enough attention to know it could happen and you’ve already got your shit together more than I do.”

“Shut up,” Gavin said, pressing his hand over Michael’s mouth.

Michael didn’t want to. The last thing he wanted to do was let Gavin go another ten seconds without realizing how goddamn remarkable and singular he was, the brightest, best thing the fucking planet had to offer, and the hand over his mouth didn’t stifle him, but the almost delicate set to Gavin’s face did. His lips were parted, his breathing hard, and Michael could have broken him with kindness as quickly as cruelty.

Swallowing down the words, Michael just kissed Gavin’s palm. He shuffled in closer until he had to hook his arms over Gavin’s legs, around his waist. The hand over his mouth moved, wrapping around his shoulders instead, and Michael tucked in close, cheek against Gavin’s belly. Gavin let out a shocked, hard exhale, but slumped back in the chair. Together, they were tucked into each other, folding together like origami, their bends and layers maybe creating something stronger than themselves.

That feeling rose like a tide in Michael, bolstering him. This close to Gavin, he always felt a little bit invincible. It shuddered through him, and he sighed deeply, feeling settled in himself for the first time in at least a week.

That alone was a welcome feeling. He could have stayed like that for the rest of the night, slept in Gavin’s lap and thanked him for it later, but before he could get to that point, Gavin started to move. He couldn’t seem to sit still, squirming in his seat and letting out little tight sighs until Michael looked up, eyebrow arched. “What?”

“Nothing,” Gavin said, but there was a flush in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before.

Michael smiled slowly. _Ah_. He kept his eyes locked on Gavin’s as he moved one hand, sliding it up Gavin’s stomach, thumb catching the hem of his shirt and pulling it up too. Slowly, watching for reaction with a keen gaze, Michael pressed his lips against Gavin’s skin, close mouthed, and nosed softly against the coarse hair that Gavin had there.

Tugging on Michael’s bangs, Gavin somehow sagged further in the chair, hips canting up just a bit, legs wide to let Michael in close. He had that half-lidded warm look to him, watching Michael closely as he kissed Gavin’s belly, nipped at him, blatantly nuzzled into his dark hair. “Having fun?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah, are you?” Michael flashed him a fast smirk before changing direction, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Gavin’s pajama pants and pulling them lower on his hips until Michael could find the curve of his hip and bite him there too.

Gavin huffed out, “I figured you can’t double-egg me, so…” His eyes slid closed for a moment as Michael decided to trace the line of his hipbone with his tongue. “Please, boy, be kind?”

He could be kind. He could be all sorts of kind. Gavin helped him strip off pants and boxers. “Quiet,” Michael warned him, because it may have been the dead of night but they _were_ still sharing the house and were doing this in the goddamn living room.

Gavin nodded swiftly and said nothing, just running his hands through Michael’s hair over and over, brushing it back. Michael hitched Gavin’s legs up over his shoulders, felt the ankles hook together against his back, closing him in.

He could be there forever, on his knees in front of Gavin. It would take so little to get him to follow Gavin’s command, and some days Michael thought about that and was a little afraid of what that meant. But other days, the ones like these, he revelled in it.

Years ago, Michael had looked at Gavin and told himself the man with those seaglass eyes was off limits. It was Gavin who’d decided otherwise and it was still one of the greatest gifts Michael had ever been given, undeserved but _wanted_.

Michael was slow about working Gavin up. He hummed as he mouthed his way down further, tasting every piece of skin he could reach. He could feel Gavin’s dick against his chin, felt it stiffen as Michael reacquainted himself with all the vulnerable places Gavin hid under his clothes. The hands in his hair went tense and loose in turns, and Gavin was already making low needy sounds when Michael got his mouth on him. His tongue curled around the head of his dick and Michael looked up at Gavin as he guided it into his mouth.

Gavin’s flush deepened as his back bent, shoulders pressing hard into the chair back. His hips shifted, but with his legs around Michael’s head, there wasn’t much he could do. The desperate puffs of air were music to Michael as he ran his tongue up and down Gavin’s dick, holding him steady with hands wrapped around his legs. The little stuttered rocks of his hips didn’t do much, and Michael let him have them, letting him move as Michael worked at him with constant suction.

That habit Gavin had of being quiet in bed was useless here. The _chair_ made more sound as Gavin moved, trying to get further into Michael’s mouth or just moving for the sake of moving. The sound of wood creaking was the loudest thing in the room, joined by Gavin’s panting breaths and the wet, obscene noises coming from Michael’s own mouth.

The hands in his hair gripped tightly and Gavin said, hushed, “Michael, _Michael_ ,” before releasing, filling Michael’s mouth.

Funnily enough, it was hard to pull away after having urged Gavin’s legs to hold him close. Michael breathed out hard through his nose, swallowing what he could and wiping at the corners of his mouth with his sleeve. The taste was so different with humans, Michael still wasn’t used to it, always expecting something else, but it was worth it for the look on Gavin’s face, mouth open and eyelashes fluttering.

Extricating himself, Michael stood up. There was a half-empty bottle of water on the table, lukewarm but good enough to wash out his mouth a bit. After, he looked down at Gavin fondly. He looked wiped out, but was smiling. After a moment, he opened his eyes and met Michael’s gaze. “Mmhm?”

“Bed?” Michael asked, figuring it was best to stick to simple concepts with Gavin for now.

“Hm. Pants?” Gavin pointed to his boxers, and Michael handed them over. He wiggled into them, still not climbing out of his chair, but after held out his hands. “C’mere?”

“You don’t want to go upstairs to your actual bed?” Michael asked.

Gavin made an upset noise, whining loudly until Michael muttered, “Holy shit,” and obliging climbed into the chair with Gavin. They shifted around, or Michael moved however Gavin nudged him to until they were curled up together. “Happy?”

“‘Ang on,” he mumbled, and caught his fingers through the ring set into the cuff around Michael’s wrist. He lifted Michael’s arm with it and slid under, leading him until Michael wrapped around him as he desired. “All right, perfect.”

Michael smiled against Gavin’s hair and let himself relax into sleep, trusting that whatever issues came up, they could be solved in the morning.


	7. you turn the screws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains potentially triggery material, consult the CWs in chapter one if needed

Gavin woke up and groaned angrily at the prospect. It was late morning if the angle of the light from the window was any indication. He could have sworn he’d had the curtains closed last night, but now they were wide open, letting sunlight pour in and showing off the mostly-clear sky, blue and dotted with a few errant dark clouds.

Fucking Michael and his passive aggressive bollocks. He wouldn’t dare wake Gavin, hadn’t done so in almost two months, but he’d make the sunlight do his dirty work for him.

Gavin thought that was pretty rubbish since it was Michael’s fault that he wanted to sleep so much lately. It was _exhausting_ , carrying around the egg. He’d gotten used to the feel of it, a solid weight low in his body, tethered to his center of gravity and holding him down like he was going to sink into loose soil and take root. It made him move slower, the egg resisting him, making him work for it every time he climbed out of bed or out of a chair.

That was why he’d developed his little routine. He could make himself get out of bed, clean up a bit, then settle in downstairs with blankets. That was the extent of his movement lately. Gavin liked that routine, liked the way Michael waited on him, at first motivated by his weird guilt about the whole thing, then by how silly the whole situation was, then by what had to be some kind of ridiculous nesting instinct. Michael was never boring, that was for certain.

Today, though, was not a day for warm routines and hot tea and playing video games all day as the little sphere in his gut drew in heat energy and somehow made itself heavier. Today was Gavin’s weekly trip to Buda to see Jack. Which meant getting up and actually dressed and having to be driven, god.

Gavin groaned again, louder, and Michael poked his head in the door. “Really, Gavin?”

“Do we have to go to see Jack? Can we do it tomorrow?” Gavin gingerly started to get out of bed, already aware what the answer was going to be. He’d asked before.

“If you skipped your appointment once, you’d never fucking go again.” Michael stepped into Gavin’s space, subtly making himself available if Gavin needed the help.

“Well, it’s pointless, isn’t it? See Jack, Jack pokes at me a bit, takes some blood, and then I go home because I’m perfectly all right.”

“You’re the first person of your entire species to bond with my species, let’s be a little careful.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, because logical arguments were so boring when you got down to it. He clambered up to his feet and shuffled to the bathroom. Hot water was his new god, be it from shower or from stealing a bath from the giant ostentatious clawfoot tub in the master bath. It drew out his aches and the feeling of weightlessness was the best thing in the world.

Michael leaned in the doorway as Gavin showered. “Griffon’s taking you today, by the way.”

“You skipping out on me?”

“Geoff wants me for a commotion up in Fort Worth. There’s a lot of unexplained rolling blackouts and weird reports out of the area,” he explained. “And I’m the lightning guy and former electrician, so… It’s close, and I’ll be back before evening. I just wanted you to know before I left.”

“C’mere then,” Gavin said, and leaned out to take a kiss from Michael. “Get going, I’ll see you later.”

“Take care. _Don’t_ beg off your fucking appointment, I swear to god,” Michael said. Gavin flicked water at him, because he was going to try. It wasn’t going to work because it was Griffon and she wasn’t the pushover Geoff was, but he’d make the attempt nonetheless.

For the moment, though, Gavin leaned against the wall of the shower, pointing the head to hit him full-on, and stayed there for a while, soaking up the warmth of the water until his skin was flushed pink and new.

 

* * *

 

The drive to Buda was leisurely, with Griffon playing Metric albums from the car stereo and stopping for frappuccinos before taking the scenic route out of town. Gavin appreciated the pace as he kept his eyes low, trying to avoid the vague carsick feeling that roiled in him. It was there anytime he was in a vehicle going more than forty miles per hour and it was just one of the many little things that weighed on him, a constant reminder of the strange state he was in.

After a while, you got used to weirdness. It’d been a long while since he’d been truly shocked by something. There was this undercurrent to his entire life, that it was defined by a lack of impossibilities. Ramseys didn’t believe in impossible things anyway. Gavin’s family were all superheroes, his doctor was the Hulk, and his boyfriend (or ‘bondmate,’ perhaps, if the word stopped sounding overdramatic in his head in the same way ‘boyfriend’ sounded underwhelming) was an alien. Once, he might’ve been something of a last bastion away from the oddities that surrounded him, but that time was past. Gavin didn’t even know how _normal_ worked anymore.

It made watching sitcoms a lot more difficult, but otherwise suited him just fine.

“Are you all right?” Griffon asked him as they drew close to the bit of suburbia where Jack lived. “You’re quiet today.”

“Mm?” Gavin lifted his head from where it was resting against the window. It was half-open, and the warm breeze stirred through his hair. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“You’re almost done,” she reminded him, reaching over to rub his arm as she pulled up to Jack’s house. “Michael said two to three months, right?”

“If there’s anything unsettling about this, it’s that it’s almost done.” Gavin shifted in his seat so he was leaning the other way, and Griffon’s hand curled around his neck, her thumb running up and down the column of his spine. “What in the bloody hell am I going to do when I’m suddenly all light again? I think I might float away from the ground.”

She snorted. “You need a nap, sweetie.”

“Yeah. Balls.” He dragged his hands up and down his face. “Okay, let’s do this.”

They parked and climbed out of the car. Halfway up the path, though, Griffon’s phone let out a tone and when she checked it, she slowed to a stop. Her face was drawn as she read the message, a frown marring her face.

“Trouble?” Gavin asked.

It took her a moment to consider, and when she had, her voice was oddly light. “Would you be all right grabbing a cab back to the house? I have a meeting to get to. I forgot about it, and with Geoff off in Fort Worth…”

“Is this an RE meeting or a Sorola meeting?” Gavin asked.

Griffon went statue-still for a second before her eyes flicked up to meet Gavin’s stare. It was a vindictive bit of pride that bloomed in him, and Gavin smirked.

“Can we all stop assuming I’m an idiot? I mean, honestly.”

“Gav--”

“It’s fine. Look, I get that the Sorola-Ramsey Conflict is a big deal to Geoff, but I don’t really care and as I recall I’m the one who got the giant fuck-off needle in the chest.” He shrugged. “I mean, that part was shit, but I got to meet Captain America, so I figure it was a good trade.” He sobered. “I don’t know what your little meetings with them are for, but I imagine they’re important.”

Griffon nodded. “They are. I am not trying to go behind anyone’s back, but you know how Geoff is.”

“I know.” Gavin nodded. “I won’t say be careful because, really, I’m not one to suggest anyone is being reckless, look at the state I got myself into.”

Snorting, she shook her head. “I’m careful. But I need to make this meet-up.” She caught Gavin’s hand, squeezing. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I will. I’ll catch a ride back home when Jack’s done. I’ll see you later.”

Even then, Griffon waited until Gavin was safely in the house before leaving to do whatever clandestine bollocks with Sorola. Then, Gavin was essentially handed off into Jack’s clutches; that was part of the routine as well, it seemed. It was annoying to be _handled_ so by everyone, but he sucked it up. It wasn’t like it was unjustified, what with everything he’d already been through and now the egg.

Jack at least made this part of the process simple. He smiled fondly at Gavin when he opened the door. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like you haven’t been getting your needles ready all morning,” Gavin muttered, stepping inside.

“Needle, singular. Sorry for making sure this completely new process in your body isn’t going catastrophically wrong, I know it’s such a burden for you,” Jack sniped back with ease. “Do you want lunch?”

“Let’s do the medical thing first,” Gavin said. “I might have a nap before I catch a ride home.”

“No one’s taking you? Where’s your usual ride?” He seemed to just realize Gavin came alone, peering out the window for a car in the driveway.

“I am lucky enough to still not know about the actual managerial duties of owning one of the most famously successful R&D companies in the world. I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.”

Jack laughed, not catching the non-answer for what it was. “Fair enough. Come on, let’s get a look at you.”

This part of the egg-carrying process stopped being interesting after the fifth time. Gavin had lost count of how many appointments he’d taken with Jack in the first month. It was easily more than all the other doctor trips of his life combined. Jack took his vitals, using his own fingers against Gavin’s wrist and a watch for his heart rate, an antiquated habit considering there were plenty of devices that could do the same job just as well.

“Any changes from last week?” Jack asked. “Any at all?”

“I’m pretty sure the bloody thing’s even denser now,” Gavin said. “Every time I think that’s not possible, it happens anyway. No, it doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t make me sick to feel it sitting there anymore.”

“Any trouble with food at all?”

“I’m still perfectly regular.” Blowing out a long breath slowly, Gavin shook his head. “Really, I just want it to be done with but I’m also… nervous about the whole thing? It feels more real now.”

“Well,” Jack said, letting the word hang as he thought. Gavin could almost see the shift, like a switch being flipped from medical advice mode to life advice mode. Sharing a body with the Hulk was enough to make anyone a bit philosophical, Gavin supposed. “You sort of lucked out with this whole thing, given how Michael’s species reproduces. But, it does give you less time to… mentally or emotionally prepare.” He looked into Gavin’s eyes over the rim of his glasses. “Are you still all right with all this?”

“I’m not _not_ all right,” Gavin said. “It’s weird. But I’m something of an expert in weird, so I think I’ll be fine? I mean, I’ve mostly been picking out names. It’s the traditional bollocks like that, that’s what throws me.”

“Have you decided on any?” he asked, the interest clear in his voice.

“No. Still doing research.” Gavin wanted to get the right name, but the effort it was taking was unprecedented and unexpected. “So, do you want to poke at my belly more or am I done?”

“Are you _certain_ there is nothing--”

“There really truly isn’t, Jack,” Gavin said. “It’s a pretty unobtrusive egg, all things considered.”

“Right. Okay.” Jack stepped back, and Gavin hopped off the table. “We have sweet potato fries and beef tips if you’re wanting.” Then, with an extra layer of carefulness folded into his low rumbling voice, “But if you’d prefer to go, that’s fine too.”

Gavin ducked his head, smiling. Right. The out. Jack always gave him the out, making sure not to pressure him into staying. Gavin appreciated the gesture every time it was extended, and sometimes took advantage of it, usually on the days when everything felt complicated and heavy weighing down on him.

But, on days like this, Gavin said, “That sounds excellent, actually,” and followed Jack upstairs, where there was hot lunch and cold lemonade.

There was also Joel Heyman sitting in the living room, slouched deep into his sweatshirt, the bulk of it hiding his carapace. He and Caiti were watching Project Runway reruns, with Caiti oohing over the designs as Heyman glared at them, like each one was a personal insult to him.

Gavin walked by in front of them, circling around to the kitchen.

“Hey, Gavin,” Caiti greeted.

“Caiti, hullo.” He nodded to her. “Heyman.”

“Hn,” Heyman grunted, not lifting his eyes. And that was the extent of their interaction.

Gavin was aware that he should have been a lot more upset about Heyman’s general existence. There was a span of soft crinkly scar tissue down one of his arms in the vague shape of the man’s hands, carried with Gavin everywhere he went. Everyone else seemed more angry about it than Gavin did.

Maybe it was the Geoff in him, his inability to hold the grudge. He knew with perfect clarity that the entire kidnapping and drugging and all that bollocks had never been about _him_. It was about Griffon, and if there was any reason that Gavin would be glad to see Heyman’s life wrecked, it was for what he did to Griffon, making her risk everything like she did.

That was unforgivable to Gavin.

But despite all that, he still sat at the breakfast nook and ate barbeque beef and munched on sweet potato fries with chunky salt and oil while Heyman complained about how draping wasn’t fucking design, the whole season was bullshit, et cetera. All of it faded into background noise as Gavin took out his phone and idly skimmed through the book he was reading on music theory, flipping pages with his pinky to avoid smudging the screen.

He could have stayed like that for a long time, weighed down and fed excellent food with the hum of other people around him. Could have had his kip right then, really.

But at the ranch house, he’d be able to take off his trousers. That was the deciding factor for when Gavin called up a cab to take him home.

What arrived ten minutes later was not a honk from the driveway, but a brisk knock on the door. Jack and Caiti shared a look, both equally confused. Visitors were about as uncommon to the Pattillo household as they were the Ramsey-Free household.

“Maybe it’s just a polite cabbie?” Gavin asked, gathering himself out off his chair in case that was the case and it was time for him to go.

Jack didn’t look convinced and went to the door, looking through the peephole. His face shifted from anxiousness to a pleased grin as he undid the locks and opened the door. “Well, this is a surprise,” Jack said.

Standing there in a navy suit with a star-embroidered tie and a handsome smile was Captain Haywood, as close to a human action figure as one could imagine. “Jack. I’m sorry for dropping in, especially without calling ahead.”

“No, please, anytime,” Jack replied, waving Haywood in. “What brings you all the way to Austin?”

Gavin knew. Haywood’s eyes slid sideways to find him, point A to point Gav without a second’s pause. “I don’t mean to infringe on your hospitality, Jack, but I heard Gavin was here and I’d like a chance to speak to him.” His smile somehow widened. He had very pink gums. “I hope that’s all right, Gavin?”

“What’d’you want with me then?” Gavin asked.

“To talk,” Haywood said. “That’s all, I assure you.” He ducked his head, boyish for a man of his height and stature. “Your family has been very unwilling to talk plainly with my people. And that’s fair. But I thought you and I might sit down and clear the air.”

Gavin considered that and snorted softly as something occurred to him. “Geoff and Griffon have told you to sod off, you can’t reach Michael, so you staked me out.”

“You need a ride home,” Haywood conceded, nodding, “and I thought I would offer you an escort, yes.”

“Mums tell you not to get in cars with strangers,” Gavin said.

And Ryan smiled more, like his perfect teeth were his talisman through hardship. “And am I a strange man, Gavin?”

Gavin looked to Jack, who didn’t say anything. He sort of hoped he would, either to push Gavin to agree to a weekday drive with Captain America or to decline for him. But Jack looked as conflicted as Gavin felt.

He didn’t mistrust Haywood, per se. Or, it wasn’t _Haywood_ that Gavin mistrusted. And that more than anything decided him. “All right. I don’t think I need to remind you of what my family is capable of if anything should happen to me.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “If you need reminder, you can ask Heyman.”

Haywood shook his head. “That’s-- not necessary. This isn’t about that, Gavin. I really just want to talk. If you’re willing to listen.”

“Only if you do as well,” Gavin said, then nodded to Jack. “Next week, then?”

“Gav,” Jack started.

“It’s fine. This is Captain bloody America we’re talking about, right?” And Ryan got a bashful look on his face, as if he wasn’t the biggest proponent for the _legacy_ of his title. “I’ll see you next week for more needles and prodding.”

“It’s still just the one needle,” Jack said. “But fine. I’ll let Griffon know what happened.” Which wasn’t an explicit threat, but was definitely directed at Haywood as a reminder; he was being watched.

“You can tell them we may stop at the Driskill first, but he’ll be taken home safely,” Haywood said.

“Fancy,” Gavin said and made his way to the door. “Let’s go or I’m liable to fall asleep before you tell me whatever is so damn important.”

Haywood stepped aside, inclining his head. “After you, Gavin, thank you. I will not waste your time, I promise.”

Gavin had no doubt.

 

* * *

 

To his surprise, Haywood drove.

He didn't expect to be driven by Captain America, being alone in the car with him. The radio was left off and the tinted windows stayed all the way up, the A/C blowing just enough to banish the summer heat. It was a compact car and Gavin tucked his legs up, turned sideways in the seat to be more comfortable. “Take the long way,” Gavin said, head slumping against the chair, cheek supported by the strap of his seat belt. “High speeds make me ill.”

“Ah,” Haywood said mildly. “All right.” After a long moment, he went on. “I was wondering if congratulations were in order.”

“They wouldn’t be remiss,” Gavin mumbled. “I’m a tad annoyed BYTE knows.”

“I’m sorry about that.” His eyes stayed on the road, but he tilted his head enough to watch Gavin from his peripheral. “You know, I did try to email you.”

“You what?”

Haywood nodded. “When we first met, you wrote your email and your private number on my hand. They don’t work anymore.”

It took a moment for Gavin to remember the details of that day. It was all a blur of being chloroformed and whisked away for interrogation and chatting up the newly-defrosted Ryan Haywood before his rescue was ready. But Haywood was right, he had tried to be somewhat sympathetic and given a means to contact him. Haywood had never taken the next step, so Gavin had let the details fade from his memory. “Well, that was three years ago? More than? I have different info now.”

“I figured. But the fact remains: you are a hard man to get ahold of.”

That was fair. Gavin hummed softly and shut his eyes. The car was just warm enough to urge him to sleep and the motion of it was lulling him. Without meaning to, he dropped off, sinking like a stone into sleep that was almost unnervingly deep for having come on so fast.

****

In his head, it was not a bright summer day, but a dark place with a torrential downpour. It was either the dead of night, or the clouds were too thick for the sun to hope to break through, the rain cool but harsh as it pelted down on them.

Them. Gavin looked around at the storm around them before giving Michael his attention. He was sitting on Michael’s lap, held securely with his arms around Gavin’s hips. The memory crashed into the dream, the night Austin HQ was hit, when Michael had taken Gavin out into the rain. Looking down, he expected to see the spot of light that was the ranch house. Instead, this time he just looked down and there were the streaks of rain falling and falling and falling into the black, endless and soundless. There was no ground for the drops to lash against and so the only noise was the wind howling past Gavin’s ears.

He gripped Michael’s shoulders tightly, sucking in a breath of chilled humid air.

“Don’t drop me,” he said, his own voice distant and strange, as though traveling through water. “I’ll fall.”

“We are falling,” Michael said, smiling, and it was true, they were falling, and they were faster than the rain now, the drops seeming to fly upward around them. “Falling’s easy.”

It was, and Gavin didn’t know why he was still nervous. His grip on Michael was tight still, and his breathing came in quick gasps.

Michael reached up, cupping Gavin’s cheek. “Hey. It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re never safer than in the eye of a storm.”

The words vibrated through him like a tuning fork, sharp and unrelenting, forcing everything out of him except the exhilaration that came from the fall. Gavin shut his eyes and the wind tousled his hair and was furious past his ears, a familiar panic rising in him as he fell but he was safe, he was safe, he could survive it all, he was _safe_ and no stranger to storms.

****

He came awake with a start, sitting up with a sharp gasp.

He was somewhere new. A wide, open room, stretched over the sofa facing a window overlooking the city, the lights low but the sun still bright enough outside, he knew it was still day. It looked like a suite of some kind, high enough to be the top floor of someplace really posh.

Gavin paused, rubbing his eyes. They were scratchy, and he felt the start of a headache, one of those weird drowsy aches that came from getting just too much or too little sleep.

“Dr. Ramsey-Free,” a voice said above him, and when Gavin looked, he met an unfamiliar face. He didn’t look like a BYTE agent though; he wore the severe black suit and all, but he had a young face, dark with tan and freckles, a prominent nose and a friendly smile. He was holding out a bottle of water. “Something to drink should help with your headache, sir.”

“Have you met Agent Denecour, Gavin?” Haywood said from where he stood by the window overlooking Austin. “He was primarily a field agent before I became Commander of BYTE, so I don’t imagine so.”

“Never had the pleasure,” Denecour said with a quick wink before backing away to the far side of the room. He made himself unobtrusive quickly, and Gavin forgot about him as Haywood gave him his attention.

“Did you sleep all right?”

“This isn’t the Driskill,” Gavin said as he started to get up. He never realized what a production it was to do so before now. When it was just his family or Jack watching him wiggle around, pushing himself up and finding the right balance and leverage he needed, he didn’t care how silly it looked. Now, with unfamiliar eyes watching, he couldn’t help the embarrassed feeling that came over him as he got to his feet, leaning on the arm of the sofa to steady himself. “Captain America tells cheeky fibs now?”

“We’re in downtown Austin still,” Haywood said. “Small change of plans.”

Right. Gavin checked the water bottle was still sealed, then cracked it open, drinking deeply. It helped. “Do you want to go first or shall I then?” He walked over to Ryan at the window.

“Hm? Did you have something to share as well, Gavin?”

“Well,” Gavin started slowly. “I was going to tell you that whatever good you think you are doing, it’s all pointless because you’ve got a bloody… Wormtongue whispering in your ear.”

Haywood’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh, I liked those movies…” And Gavin snorted because, right, he wouldn’t have read the books, that made sense. “And you don’t even know what I’m trying to do for the world, Gavin, and you’re already shooting it all down? That’s not very fair.”

Gavin was pretty sure he didn’t care what Haywood _thought_ he was doing, but waved a hand, _go on_ , to Haywood.

“I can see your reluctance, so I’ll just keep it to the elevator pitch,” he said, smirking wryly. “I came back to the world to find it in flux, Gavin. There are so many people, ordinary, good people around the world who are just trying to make it through the regular dramas of life. But increasingly, we have people who threaten that delicate majority. We have monsters falling from the sky and rising up from the seas, we have vigilantes who work without oversight and think themselves judge, jury, and executioner. We have ticking time bombs all over the world and not all of them are as benevolent as your family, Gavin.”

“Like you?” Gavin asked, and Haywood ducked his head again, either sheepish or good at faking it.

“I do my best, and I might not be the paragon that I should be, but I am trying.” He looked up, catching Gavin’s eyes with his own, staring intently. “I am trying to do something to protect all those people. Someone needs to understand the dangerous world we live in and help those less fortunate. There is nothing more American than that.”

“Right.” Gavin crossed his arms. “I can see you are on the side of the angels, ‘course. Captain, I’ve seen a lot of bullshit and evil in the world, but the biggest threat right now is the one you bloody invited out of his cell.”

“Ah.” Haywood nodded. “I guess it makes sense. You don’t trust Ray, but you’re willing to give Mogar a second chance.”

“Oh, don’t talk about it like you know anything, you got your information from _Narvaroth_ ,” Gavin spat angrily, a hot sick feeling flushing through him as he remembered that goddamn interview that started this whole mess. “He’s a liar and a monster, Captain.”

“Mogar isn’t such a perfect man.”

“ _Michael_. Mogar doesn’t exist anymore.”

Haywood rocked back on his heels and he was smiling in a way that was just-- _annoying_ , like Gavin’s arguments were adorably quaint or something. “It is a funny thing, that you let Michael move on from Mogar but refuse to let Ray move on from Narvaroth.”

Gavin had to consciously stop clenching his fists; his nails bit painfully into his palm, making him flinch. He shook them out, exhaling hard. “Because Michael has tried to be a better person. Narvaroth tried to get me killed and goaded Michael into almost destroying Manhattan.”

“People change, Gavin.”

“Not always for the better,” he shot back. This was not going how he intended, though, and it wasn’t helping. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ears. “Ryan. You need to understand that I know how Narvaroth works. He convinces you he is your ally and your friend and he-- makes everything harder. Digs a knife into your back while distracting you so you don’t see its him until its too late. Look, I believe _you_. I’m sure you do mean well and you have all these grand plans and whatever, but…”

To his surprise, the irritating superior curve of Haywood’s lips faded into something that resembled real concern. “It makes sense. Out of everyone he betrayed at BYTE, you were the most severe case, and that is not something to take lightly. And I don’t, Gavin, believe me. I know what Ray is capable of, and I am very careful with him.”

“Not careful enough,” Gavin said.

“No?” He sighed. “I expected this. I do understand your mistrust, Gavin. Let me prove you wrong, though, please.” He looked away, to the agent in the corner of the room, who Gavin had forgotten was even standing there. “Caleb?”

“Yes, sir,” Denecour said and briskly left the room.

“I am determined to have you on our side in this, Gavin,” Haywood said. “I really hope you come to listen because I think you’ll understand. You’re a man who uses his considerable talents to protect people. I think together we could protect so many more.” He grinned. “You’re a powerful man.”

Gavin didn’t have time to demur or to boast that _hell yes he was_ or to roll his eyes, nothing.

Disguised well in boring civvies and his thick-framed glasses was Narvaroth, strolling into the room ahead of Denecour, the door shut behind them. He looked the same, his gem-bright eyes and his dark brows curved into that naturally endearing expression as he strolled up, as if he weren’t a monster, a harbinger of death in sodding checkerboard print shoes, a sore thumb sticking out with Haywood and Denecour’s professional get-up. His human drag was still good enough that Gavin felt a sharp pang of loss in his chest named Ray before he stepped back in instinctive fear.

“Ray,” Haywood greeted warmly and stepped away from them, as if they needed space. “Thanks for joining us. I think you know Gavin.”

That was apparently the plan. A nice meet and greet, as though they needed to rekindle an old friendship or something. As though Gavin’s blood didn’t go cold at the sight of him.

The whole thing fell apart with the swiftness of a cascade. The warm human mask on Narvaroth’s face just-- vanished, and there was the face of the creature that had attacked him at BYTE Tower, who summoned the worst of Mogar’s storms upon New York. His lip curled, an ugly snarl that married into his sudden _furious_ grimace.

He moved faster than Gavin could see, or maybe it was another one of his illusions. There was nothing illusory about the hand that got him around the throat, lifting Gavin off his feet and slamming him back into the glass window.

The panic drowned Gavin, his mouth open on a silent gasp that got him no air to breathe. His hands wrapped around Narvaroth’s wrist, trying to push him away with all the success of trying to fight off a brick wall. He couldn’t even cry out or scream, he couldn’t fucking _breathe_ and Narvaroth was going to kill him like he always feared, back to finish his botched job.

“You _unworthy shit_ ,” Narvaroth hissed.

It all stopped fast; Haywood grabbed Narvaroth and forced him off Gavin, throwing him across the room with a yell that Gavin couldn’t make sense off. All that mattered was that the pressure was gone and he slumped to the ground, curling up and coughing as he dragged in lungfuls of air frantically. He felt himself shaking, and it took too long for him to catch the chain around his neck and drag out his necklace, holding the Bifrost chunk in a desperate grip and mentally _screaming_ for Michael.

The pendant burst with light, warm in his palm.

Gavin heard, low and dull, “Dammit,” from Ryan. “Go to the helicopter now, tell them to get it ready. We’re leaving.” A pause. “ _Go_.”

He didn’t look up until the door slammed shut again. His breath was still coming too fast and he felt dizzy and sick, rubbing his neck where Narvaroth had just casually tried to strangle him. Denecour was looking at Haywood, waiting, but Haywood had his back to them, a hand over his face.

“Sir?” Denecour prompted.

“I know. Yes. Plan B.” Without saying anything about what had happened, without even _looking_ at Gavin where he was crumbled by the window, Haywood swept out of the door, leaving it open in his wake.

Denecour was left. Gavin tried to get to his feet, but was too heavy and was shaking too hard still. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with a BYTE agent who wasn’t Tuggey. He didn’t know who this guy was, only that he was maybe the new Tuggey to Haywood’s Sorola, and that did not bode well at all.

He smiled, and it was terrifying in how genuine it looked, even though Gavin knew better. “I’m very sorry about this, Dr. Ramsey-Free. We really wanted to do this the easier way. Ray won’t be let off for this lightly, believe me.”

“Get out,” Gavin said. “Just get out.” He didn’t care about whatever the company line for this was, everything he’d been afraid of was true and he just wanted Michael to show up and take him home. “You’ve got maybe five minutes before Michael shows up and puts his hammer through Narvaroth’s skull, so _leave_.”

Denecour nodded. “You’re upset. And that’s valid.” He stepped into Gavin’s space, ignoring how Gavin flattened himself against the window. “If I could have stopped that from happening, I would have,” he said, quieter, cutting a sideways look to the rest of the room, like someone might’ve been listening. “I’m sorry this has to be done the hard way,” he apologized.

He reached for Gavin, and Gavin yelped and scrambled, trying to get away. Denecour let him, and the only thing he felt was the sharp tug around his sore neck and the slide of the chain leaving him. The pendant. “No, _wait_!”

“Sorry, I really am, Doctor, but I don’t have a choice.” Denecour’s smile was pained then. “Sorry.” He left, walking fast, the pendant leaving with him.

Just like that, Gavin was alone.

After a moment, he heard the sound of a helicopter’s blade, muffled but audible through the glass. He turned and watched it fly off, quickly banking and heading out of his line of sight.

Haywood was out of his mind. Narvaroth was still as dangerous as ever.

And now Gavin’s beacon was gone.

His eyes stung, and Gavin put his head on his knees, breathing through the crush of emotions competing for his attention: worry, helplessness, fury, homesickness, exhaustion. All of them vying for him, and Gavin refused to let them take hold, just gasping through and waiting for the worst to pass.

He didn’t have time for this. He was, at the very least, in a familiar area. He needed to get it together, to pick himself up and get downstairs. He could get an actual bloody cab from there and go home. Then maybe have a good cry if he still felt like it.

But all that could wait a moment as he got his strength back. He was shocky and cold, and the sun beating on his back through the window was a nice bit of warmth in the wake of everything.

What a clusterfuck.

After his body felt less like it was about to explode outward with the force of all his tense, warring emotions, Gavin planted his hands on the glass and pulled himself upright. From there, he needed another minute, braced against the glass. He took stock, making sure he felt all right, that the egg was there and still felt heavy but harmless in him.

It would have been so easy for the whole thing to go wrong.

There was a tap, and Gavin’s head snapped up.

Michael was floating on the other side, looking right at him, face drawn and tense. He said, or maybe just mouthed, _You okay_?

“Oh my god,” Gavin laughed hollowly, hoping more than anything he wasn't a hallucination or something. “Get _in_ here!” He beckoned Michael and made a sweeping motion with his hands before pointing to the direction the BYTE people had left in, where there was apparently a landing pad close by.

Michael nodded and was gone in a flash, flying fast. Even for the few seconds he was out of sight, Gavin’s spirits fell again.

It really was just seconds before Michael was there, vaulting over the sofa and crossing the room to where Gavin was, setting his hammer down before bundling Gavin in close. “What happened, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“M’fine. Met Captain America. He brought a friend,” Gavin said before his throat tightened like a vice. It was painful to speak, his voice hoarse, but he eeked out a hurt sound and latched onto Michael’s shoulders, holding on like his life depended on it.

“Hey, hey.” Michael dug his fingers into Gavin’s hair, petting him. “Hey, I’ve got you, babe, I got you, it’s okay.”

It was, he knew that, but when he tried to speak again, it was too high, out of his control. “I-- I lost the pendant, I’m sorry,” he squeaked, tucking into Michael’s neck.

“What? Shush, it’s fine, I’ve got you,” Michael kept saying, and Gavin choked out a laugh; he lifted them off the floor, just a bit, and was swaying to and fro. It was lovely and also too much. He felt a few errant tears sneak out against his will and jerked his hand up to rub them away.

“Your Bifrost pendant. They took it. I don’t know why, but I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine. Are you okay?”

“No, Michael, it’s--”

“Gavin, I don’t care. Hey.” He set them back down and took Gavin’s face between his hands, his thumbs running lightly over Gavin’s eyelashes. “I felt it, it brought me to you. Are you okay?” Gavin nodded. “Then it did its job.”

He still felt bad and wanted to argue about it. He wanted to say a lot of things, but oddly, he asked, “Why are you here? Not with the pendant?”

Michael blinked, and he looked just as surprised as Gavin felt. “I… you were here. I don’t…” He frowned deeply. “Um. I don’t know, I just knew you were… here.” His eyes slipped down, and widened. “What the fuck happened?” One of his fingers touched lightly to Gavin’s neck. It hurt, and Gavin knew he was going to be showing off some remarkable bruises later; he was probably already going red.

“Narvaroth. Haywood wanted to convince me he was reformed and he fucking went at my neck,” Gavin explained quickly. His hand fisted in Michael’s shirt. “Stay here. Don’t-- just stay here, okay?”

“Okay. Holy fuck, okay, c’mere.” Michael sounded as shaken as Gavin felt, but he was solid when Gavin leaned into him, letting Michael take his weight. His arms encircled him, pressing wide hands over his back and clutching Gavin close.

Finally, _finally_ , Gavin let go, shutting his eyes and muffling the noises he made into Michael’s shoulder. He had a lot to tell him, to tell everyone about BYTE and about Narvaroth and what was apparently going on. For now, though, it could wait. “Home?” Gavin managed, even the one word watery.

“Yeah.” Michael lifted him carefully. “Home.”


	8. great dominions don't come cheap

There were a few immutable rules of combat, in Ryan’s opinion. After the experiment that turned him into the man that would be Captain America, he learned a thing or two about battle and the patterns that arose from that environment. The lessons he carried with him to his icy slumber and back out again, into the new world that had grown up around him while he lay in wait.

One of the first rules he had learned was somewhat obvious: prepare for failure before you prepare for success. Hubris brought about a swifter death than any bullet in a gun.

That was why when the meeting with Gavin went sour, they were ready. One of the things Ryan liked best about Caleb Denecour was that he understood the need for contingency plans. It was the sign of a good agent and an excellent spy to know what their limits were as clearly as what their strengths were.

Thus, he was unsurprised when Caleb climbed into the helicopter with his hand closed firmly around the thing they’d sought.

“That could have gone better,” Caleb said once he was settled in his seat and had his headset pulled on. The helicopter lifted off and turned to the north.

Ryan stayed on the main channel long enough to tell the pilot, “Fly fast, and be prepared for evasive maneuvers in case we get company,” before reaching up and switching to another channel, flashing Caleb the number on his fingers. Once Caleb had switched over as well, he said, “Any more complications?”

“No, sir,” Caleb said. “Dr. Ramsey-Free wasn’t happy to give up the asset, but wasn’t really in a state to fight me for it. He’s unharmed.”

“Besides what Ray did to him,” Ryan countered, and Caleb nodded.

“As I said: could have gone better.” He shook his head. “Where did that come from?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryan said. “It’ll be taken care of.” He nodded at Caleb’s fisted hand. “Let me see.”

Caleb was suitably cautious. Their plan was entirely dependent on three things, and he was holding one. Scooting to the edge of his chair to minimize the space between them, he cupped his hands, holding them out with it inside.

It looked completely unremarkable at first glance. There were a thousand glass or quartz prisms that could be mistaken for the pendant that had hung around Gavin Ramsey-Free’s neck moments before. When Ryan picked it up and held carefully between his fingers, the similarities ended. The little prismatic chunk had an obviously alien feeling to it, the material warm to the touch in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of Caleb’s hand. The colors that shone from the cleavage points and cracks shifted from color to color before Ryan’s eyes. It was really quite beautiful, a romantic gift for any lover.

And, if Narvaroth was correct, it was a token of great potential and power.

Ryan handed it back to Caleb. “Make sure it is put somewhere safe. And keep it off the records.”

Caleb nodded briskly. “Yes, sir.” The thing, the  _Bifrost shard_  (again, if Narvaroth was to be believed), was tucked away into the inside of Caleb’s jacket. He knew the BYTE facilities better than Ryan yet did, and Ryan was sure he would know somewhere secretive and safe where the shard could be kept until the time was right. Best to keep it out of Narvaroth’s hands until then.

The flight back to New York was overall uneventful. Ryan had worried that they would be waylaid by Mogar or Iron Man, but neither showed their faces. After so many things had gone wrong, having one small allowance was appreciated.

As they flew along the eastern seaboard, Caleb said, softly, “I don’t think that we would have secured Ramsey-Free’s support even if Ray had kept himself in check, but--”

“He’ll be spoken to,” Ryan said crisply.

Caleb looked over at him, meeting his eyes fearlessly. “If you hadn’t intervened, this entire operation--”

“He will be spoken to,” Ryan said again, harsher. “I will handle the discipline, Denecour, and you can focus on keeping the operation on course.”

His lips pressed together unhappily, but at the end of the day, Caleb was a loyal agent to a startling degree, so he simply nodded and turned his head to look out the window again.

Ryan bowed his head and shut his eyes, dropping into deep thought. Caleb had no right to admonish Narvaroth, but he was not wrong. Something needed to be done.

They would be back shortly, and Narvaroth would doubtlessly be waiting there. Normally, it would be an irritant, the way Narvaroth used his abilities to fly ahead and avoid confrontation, but for once Ryan was glad for it. It gave Narvaroth time to collect himself, and it gave Ryan time to figure out what he was going to do with the alien. With the two of them, it was always like this, the distance, the clashes, the retreats, the way they whet their skills against each other.

Ryan looked forward to it. Not like he had looked forward to having Gavin on their side, but still.

Narvaroth would have to answer for that, and Ryan was eager to hear whatever excuses and fictions he cooked up.

 

* * *

 

Narvaroth was no longer confined to a cell in a facility, buried deep in the earth like a coffin, but he wasn’t one to socialize with the rest of organization.

Ryan still knew where to find him. Up in one of the higher levels of BYTE Tower was a room that overlooked New York City, a perfect vantage point to watch Manhattan as it ground through its daily routine like so many clockwork gears. The room had once been a design lab filled with equipment and tall rows of serves and glass boards littered with blueprints and lists. But, when Ramsey-Free had left BYTE Tower to return to Austin, he’d taken all of his things back with him, leaving an empty, cavernous space with a beautiful view once they repaired the broken window.

From the outside, looking in, Ryan knew the room looked different. Some days it was dark and shadowy, looking completely vacant. Other days, there was a circus to be seen, with elephants balanced on balls and tigers leaping through flaming hoops and clowns chased around by lions. Still other days, there was the mirage of a dense garden sprawling out from one tall apple tree with a glimmering creek and big round bulbous flowers. Once, there had been a zen garden inside with carefully lined sand and great smooth stone paths.

Today, when Ryan checked, an agent told him that the room was black. Not the usual default illusion of vacancy but  _black_  and impenetrable.

Narvaroth was always somewhat dramatic, Ryan thought.

He didn’t bother to knock before entering Narvaroth’s quarters, just shy of storming in. He was angry, but showing the full extent of that was a bad move. Narvaroth seized opportunities like that ravenously.

“You lost Ramsey-Free’s support because you couldn’t keep yourself under control,” Ryan said without preamble.

Narvaroth was leaning against the window, forehead pressed to the glass. In his human clothes, he looked like just a young man enjoying the view. Or, would have, if not for the tension in his shoulders and the fist pressed against his leg. He said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge Ryan’s presence.

“You have made this much harder on us,” Ryan went on. “Not impossible, but unduly difficult.”

Narvaroth shook his head. “I am not going to justify myself to you. You have no way to comprehend it.”

“I understand just  _fine_  that you put your hands around Ramsey-Free’s throat.” Ryan breathed out hard through his nose, dampening his anger, speaking quieter. “I am trying to get you home, Narvaroth. But you are making a mess of it.”

Narvaroth stepped back, spinning on his heel easily to face Ryan. There was a cool, casual set to his features too complete to be anything but a facade. “We’ll recover.”

“We will,” Ryan agreed. “But if you had kept it together, we wouldn’t need to. We could have done this the easy way.”

“Are you looking for an apology?” His lips curved up in what was almost a smile. “You’ll still get the device and this way will be better in the long run anyway.”

There was a chance he was right about that, but it was the principle of the thing, that Narvaroth needed to  _listen to him_ , that Ryan couldn’t let go of. He stepped forward, using his height to his advantage to loom over Narvaroth. “You will not jeopardize the parameters of this operation again, Narvaroth, or the deal is off.”

Narvaroth blinked guilelessly. “I didn’t know you were so spoiled for people with knowledge of Amaranthine technology.” The innocent expression was put away, his face shifting into something vaguely condescending. “You need me for this and it’ll be easier this way, without fucking  _Michael_. I did you a favor.”

“Don’t play this like it was your intention all along,” Ryan snapped. “You almost killed the only chance we have at this!”

Narvaroth bristled, his lips starting to curl into a sneer. “But I didn’t!”

“Only because I stopped you!” Ryan put a hand on Narvaroth’s shoulder and pushed him back against the glass, glaring down at him. “You would have killed him without a second thought,  _then_  tell me where we would be?” He shook his head. “Whatever jealousy you have--”

“I am  _not_  fucking  _jealous_!” Narvaroth roared, anger sparking so easily. Ryan was ready for the punch he threw, sweeping it aside and crashing into him, pinning him to the window with his body.

Narvaroth kicked at him, struggling, trying to escalate it into a brawl, but Ryan waylaid him every time. He was trained for this, knew how to kill but just as confident in disarming every strike against him. This close, it was easy to see how much Narvaroth knew that and how it infuriated him, sizzling like oil in a hot pan until he was bursting and lashing out without any grace, just trying to land any hit on Ryan.

Another lesson of war, of back alleys, of negotiations: find what your enemy wants and do the opposite.

Narvaroth was hurting for a fight, so Ryan refused him, holding him down and feeling that incredible strength as Narvaroth pushed, growling angrily when he recognized that he was pinned. In a last shot, he tried to headbutt Ryan. It didn’t work, and Ryan instead put their foreheads together, waiting him out.

Narvaroth pounced again, but in a different way this time. He bit Ryan, first on the chin and then caught his lower lip in his teeth, pressing hard enough to split it open and let that coppery taste bloom between their mouths.

Ryan tried to drag his fingers into Narvaroth’s hair, wanting the lush feeling against his hands as much as the hold, but he was batted away. Narvaroth grabbed Ryan’s face with both hands, his nails biting in, and kissed him hard, paying no heed to the way their teeth clicked painfully together or the way Ryan’s blood slipped down Narvaroth’s chin.

Narvaroth braced himself, a foot against the glass, and forced Ryan back until Ryan went along peaceably, letting himself be urged back. It was always like that, both of them butting heads and meeting each other push for push until one of them relented just a little. There was no tenderness to it and it frequently left Ryan with more wounds than the actual battles he’d fought.

There was something more driving Narvaroth this time, though. The way he tried to demand everything from Ryan gave way to anger as Ryan gave it to him in a series of strategic retreats that drew Narvaroth in, seeking that conflict he seemed desperate for.

Find what your enemy wants. Do the opposite.

They didn’t make it to a bed, because they never made it to a bed. The bed was beside the point. Ryan felt lucky to feel the cushions of the sofa against his back as Narvaroth climbed onto him. He gripped the sofa back tightly as Narvaroth ripped and pulled, not getting his pants off but just out of the way enough to get at him. One of Ryan’s legs was hooked over the sofa back, the other over Narvaroth’s shoulder as he ground them together.

The first time around had been a shock, obviously, but it was strange how quickly Ryan got used to the differences in anatomy. The dark green of Narvaroth’s tendrils was incongruous against his skin, yet it suited him very well. He had wanted to ask about them, if Narvaroth’s people were all green inside or just him, but this wasn’t something they ever spoke about. It wasn’t a relationship, it was sparring with the possibility of orgasms.

This time, Narvaroth seemed to have a goal in mind. He wrapped around Ryan’s dick with his long tendrils and slicked against him as his hips worked, but he was quick about getting inside, tendrils squeezing in as Ryan groaned against the feeling of being stretched open just a little too fast. Narvaroth’s head was bowed, brow furrowed in concentration as he muttered to himself. Ryan didn’t understand the words and soon didn’t really care; whatever it was motivating Narvaroth with such single-minded focus, Ryan reaped the benefits of it.

The adrenaline sped things along, and Ryan came across his stomach. The tension release was always welcome, and he enjoyed it while it lasted.

Narvaroth, though, kept going, working in and out of Ryan, his teeth against his blood-stained lower lip. There was no way to know what was going on in his head, but Ryan watched as Narvaroth’s hips stuttered, his face pinched like he was in pain, muttering, “No, no,  _shit_ ,” under his breath.

When he sat back on his heels, Narvaroth just looked... confused. He was panting, flushed from orgasm, but his expression was one of complete bafflement.

“What is it?” Ryan dared to ask.

“What’s what?” Narvaroth slid away, to the far end of the sofa, staring past Ryan absently. Ryan felt like he was getting whiplash from the sudden change in the alien’s demeanor. All of his anger was gone, only that quiet puzzled look remaining.

Ryan righted himself, standing and pulling up his pants, tucking himself back into them. His jacket was ruined, so he stripped it off, leaving it in Narvaroth’s laundry. “If you endanger the operation again like you did today, our deal is off. I can find another way without you. Can you find another way home without me?”

Narvaroth didn’t reply, still looking in the same direction as before, brow furrowed. Ryan imagined that he was missing something, maybe something key to understanding the corkscrew workings of Narvaroth’s mind.

He wasn’t too concerned with that. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Narvaroth nodded once, lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t look up as Ryan left him to it.

 

* * *

 

Fortunately for the plan, most of it could be carried out without Narvaroth. The information he provided was integral and they couldn’t pull it off without him, but Ryan was more than happy to leave Narvaroth out of the logistical plotting. For that, he brewed a fresh pot of coffee in his office and sat with Caleb across from him, the both of them looking over the List.

“I’ve managed to get confirmation that Monty Oum has no inherent powers,” Caleb said, making a mark on his notes. “Any abilities his people show come from your standard design genius. He can be left alone.”

Ryan nodded. He had already suspected as much, but it was important to make sure of these things. “What did you find out about Spider-man?”

“Kerry Shawcross is going to be easy to locate and contain.” He added another tick mark. “Shawcross has been trying to join BYTE since the start of the Hunters Initiative. If we get in contact with him and ask him in for a meeting, he’ll come willingly.”

Ryan added Shawcross to his list of people they would be able to get ahold of. It was important to identify more elusive targets, the problem cases, so they could prepare for them. So far, Ryan’s list of people covered most of the vigilantes and trouble-makers in the US. Spreading out would require much more reconnaissance when the time came, but for now, they had to stick to locals. Even with the renewed support for BYTE, there were limits to their reach.

Caleb frowned and said, “I want to argue against Geoff Ramsey’s place on the List, sir.”

Ryan set down his pen and clasped his hands together. “Go ahead.”

“Ramsey’s abilities are rooted in the Iron Man prosthesis. Without it, he’s a normal man without any extraordinary abilities. I believe shutting down the Iron Man Project will be enough to remove him from the equation, while adding him to our List will leave him stranded in a place he’s not inherently equipped for.”

Ryan nodded slowly, thinking it over. It was often hard to separate Ramsey from his suit, to remember the man in it was relatively harmless, but Caleb was right. Ryan made another note, crossing out Ramsey’s name from the list. “Dr. Ramsey stays on though,” Ryan said.

“Oh, absolutely.” Caleb smiled. “If we prioritize the List at all, then she should be near the top. Just after Mogar, I would think.”

“Agreed.” Ryan tapped his pen against the desk, contemplating something. “Have the folks in the lab figured out anything about the Bifrost shard?”

“No. They’re quite confused about it, actually.” Caleb tilted his head to the side, resembling a golden retriever far too much for a man who was so capable in espionage. “Why?”

“Ray will need to be sent home at some point,” Ryan reminded him. “That was the deal. But deciding when to do that would be easier if we could use our own knowledge instead of relying on his.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” He shrugged. “I will let you know the moment we’ve figured out anything about it, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up too much.”

“Well, should they come up with anything, I want to be the only one to hear about it. Stress to them that discretion is required for this.”

There was that head tilt again, this time the other way. “Sir?” Ryan arched an eyebrow at Caleb, waiting for him to ask his question. “Is it wise to keep that information to yourself? Should something happen to you--”

“There will be no one left with a chance against me,” Ryan said. His gaze dropped to the table, eyes hooded. “It’s a heavy burden to carry, but I knew that from the start.”

The prospect was almost lonely, being the last of his kind, so to speak. It was all for the best, all for the safety of the people Ryan had sworn to protect. He didn’t look forward to it, though, just imagined the future with a heavy sense of resignation in his chest. It was coming faster now as things fell into place, as they made plans.

He could remember the day he first heard of Mogar, the first time he laid eyes on the alien. They’d sized each other up, and for the first time since he’d been given the serum, Ryan felt like someone could challenge him. Mogar could have taken him to the mat. He might’ve even  _beat_  him when it came down to it, and there was something comforting about not being the biggest fish in the pond, Ryan thought.

He took some comfort in knowing that he would probably face Mogar soon. He looked forward to it. One good confrontation in the midst of all the secrecy and subversion.

But at the end of the day, it was about the mission. Above all else, the soldier in him whispered, remember the mission.

Captain America was created to bring hope and safety to the American people first and the world second.

Ryan felt the mantle on his shoulders like a lead weight. It was heavy to carry, but it steadied him, made every move he took measured and careful.

Everything had to come together so perfectly. It would be a sort of choreographed chaos.

Speaking of choreographed chaos, they would be having their dry run today.

After his meeting with Caleb ended, Ryan stayed in his office, splitting his attention between running through the eventualities in his head and watching the clock. It was only a few days after the disastrous meeting with Ramsey-Free, and if today went poorly as well, Ryan’s patience would be at its end.

As the clock ticked closer to 5:45 in the evening, Ryan prepared. He relaced his boots and did some shoulder stretches, a few lunges. He took his shield off the wall and set it against the magnetized strip of the armor that covered his back and it hung there, a neat modern trick that he was fond of.

A few agents, dressed in body armor and carrying rifles, met him as he walked out of his office. “Beta team ready?” he asked them.

“Ready!” they answered in sharp unison.

“Good. Follow me, and keep your head down until I say,” Ryan commanded them.

 

* * *

 

The next day, a report found its way to Ryan’s desk, outlining precisely what had happened and when. It was interesting to see everything laid out so clear and staid

>   
> **17:45 -- Central BYTE facility enters preemptive alert phase.**  Two simultaneous infiltrations occur; Agent Tuggey and former Cmd Gustavo Sorola enter premises from helicopter embarkation on F50 using Tuggey’s security credentials. Agent Luna and Griffon Ramsey enter premises through vehicle entry point at B1.
> 
> **17:48 -- Alpha and Bravo Teams move to position.**  Alpha Team (led by Agent Denecour) wait on B5 in room adjacent to Vault. Bravo Team (led by Cmd Haywood) arrive at F50 embarkation point and hold position.

  
Ryan had tapped his ear. “In position. Alpha?”

Caleb response had been quieter, but instant. “In position.”

“Excellent. I hope you know what you’re doing, Alpha One.”

“Trust me, sir,” Caleb had said, and Ryan couldn’t help but grin.

>   
>  Sorola and Tuggey move to server room on F48, employing M-9s armed with tranquilizers. Agents Eberle and Gibbles incapacitated. Luna and Ramsey reach B1 service elevator.
> 
> **17:52 -- Sorola and Tuggey enter server room using Denecour’s security credentials.**  Tuggey accesses technician station. Sorola connects flash memory device to server.

  
“Did you set up a dummy server there?” Haywood had asked, frowning as he spoke. The terminology of the information age was always tricky for him, terms that he grew up with given radically different meanings or kept the same with no rhyme or reason.

“No,” Caleb had said. “Sorola would know.”

“Shame to lose such an intelligent man,” Ryan had said. “If he’d have been less stubborn, he could have been useful.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” There had been an absolute certainty in Caleb’s voice, and Ryan had nodded, trusting his judgement.

>   
> **17:55 -- Tuggey successful in shutting down service elevator and elevator 4 (only access points to B5).**  Ramsey and Luna make way down elevator shaft to B5.
> 
> **17:56 -- Sorola locates partition 1 on server 031 (Cmd Haywood’s dedicated partition) and begins flash copy.**
> 
> **17:59 -- Ramsey and Luna reach vault.**  Ramsey employs Extremis ability to melt main vault door, bypassing security. Silent and decoy alarms are triggered. Tuggey deactivates dummy alarms and sends Security report of mistaken triggering.

  
“You are worryingly good at this,” Ryan had complimented Caleb over the line as the Head of Security, Farmahini, confirmed that the switch worked perfectly.

“Thank you, sir. Communications scrambled in five… four…”

>   
> **18:00 -- Bravo One scrambles enemy communications.**
> 
> **18:04 -- Ramsey and Luna finish search of Vault without apparent success.**  Luna attempts to raise Tuggey and Sorola over radio, then alerts Ramsey that channel is dead. Ramsey and Luna leave Vault quickly.
> 
> **18:05 -- Flash copy of server data completed.**  Sorola and Tuggey leave for exit point. Alpha Team subdues Luna and begins Emergency Extremis Containment Procedure on Ramsey (see attached document).

  
Ryan had shut his eyes, listening to the open channel between him and Denecour. The channel had been closely monitored, and Farmahini had occasionally fed extra information to Ryan, gleaned from watching the security feeds.

“Luna is down,” Farmahini had said. “Denecour took him down. He’s alive. They’re applying the coolant to Ramsey. It’s… a mess, but the materials aren’t here anyway, and the secondary vault is still clear.”

“Good,” Ryan had murmured, dropping his hand from his ear and stepping forward, ahead of his team to face the door that would be opening shortly if everything continued to go according to Denecour’s plan.

>   
> **18:09 -- Sorola and Tuggey reach exit point on F50 and are apprehended by Bravo Team.**

 

Tuggey and Sorola had burst out of the door and right into the line of fire of Ryan’s team. It was the first time Ryan had the pleasure of seeing genuine surprise on Sorola’s face, or any emotion beside his varying degrees of irritation.

Tuggey had been quick, lifting her arm and firing off a shot aimed perfectly for the exposed neck of the agent next to Ryan. Ryan was just as quick, moving his shield to deflect it, the loud  _ting_  noise it made filling the room with a finality like a gavel drop.

“How did you know?” Sorola had asked, voice dull.

Ryan had lifted his eyebrows. “How do you think?”

>   
> **18:13 -- Ramsey successfully subdued and escorted to prepared containment cell on B5.**

  
“Denecour,” Ryan had called over the line, once the worst of the racket had died down and Farmahini had confirmed that Ramsey was contained. “Is the situation handled on your end?”

“Yes, sir. Ramsey is in the cell and medics are here for Luna. Once they make sure he’s in the clear, he’ll be taken to detention level. You?”

“I’m looking at Sorola and Tuggey in cuffs right now,” Ryan had said coolly. “Excellent work.”

“I did say you could trust me, sir,” Caleb had said with amusement clear in his voice before the line cut again.

Sorola, who had watched as Ryan checked in, listening intently, grimaced. There had been the old familiar irritation that Ryan was so used to seeing from him, tempered with a fair share of pure disappointment.

Ryan had walked over to him, looked down and explained, “We’ve known about your meetings and plans for some time, Gus. Caleb has been instrumental in beefing up security and patching things up during this change in leadership.”

Sorola had shaken his head. “Traitorous little shit.”

A smirk had cut through Ryan’s face at that. “Well, I don’t think this is the first time the Black Widow has been called that, but I’ll pass on the sentiment.” He then looked up to one of the team. “Take them for processing.”

>   
> **18:15 -- All clear called on BYTE facility by Denecour.**

 

* * *

 

Ryan waits a day before going down to speak to Dr. Ramsey.

It pains him to wait, but Caleb is fast to remind him that out of the people on the List, Ramsey is very close to the top. BYTE had ample time to study the effects of weaponized Extremis when they had Heyman in containment, and Ryan was aware that if even one piece of the containment cell wasn’t functioning optimally, a breach was sure to happen. And that was with Heyman and his unstable brand of Extremis. All accounts pointed to Ramsey having a much more advanced application with better control.

She was dangerous in a way that rivaled Mogar, or Narvaroth, or even the Hulk. So, Ryan was patient and waited until the situation was under more control.

When he stepped into the viewing area outside her reinforced, cooled glass cell, it was after she had been fitted into a carapace. The design was approximated from what they knew about Ramsey’s design for it, but the presentation lacked that Ramsey shine. It was more boxy and louder, whining often as the valves and gauges released the pent up heat emanating from her body. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional in the short term.

Ryan stepped up to the glass separating him from Ramsey. “How does it fit? It’s a knock-off of your design, but it’s hard to replicate your level of craftsmanship.”

Ramsey had eyes like honey that gleamed at him with a ferocity that fit her face well. “Well,” she said slowly. “I can see why you outsource everything to RE or Oum. Did your people make this in shop class?”

“We’re not looking for industry prizes.” Ryan’s smile was wan. “I wish I could tell you that you will see your family soon. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

She rolled her eyes, radiating how unimpressed she was like heat. “You think you’re going to lock me up here forever? We both know that isn’t going to fly for you, Haywood.”

“No, you’ll be leaving soon,” Ryan said. “But you won’t be going home.”

She crossed her arms and leaned on the far wall of her cell, fingers tapping against her elbow. “No? And where am I going?”

There was no harm in telling her. She wouldn’t be leaving the cell until the next part of the plan was ready.

“I’m told it’s called Oestret Roethe.”


	9. con brio

The hardest thing about living on earth had been getting used to the quiet.

The Amaranthine Citadel of Oestret Roethe, the tall red spire that had been the point on which Michael’s life had been balanced like a spinning plate, was never silent. The walls rang and every footstep added to the Citadel’s songs. Festivals inside its grounds were a cacophony of excitement. Its nights were soft like a wind chime lullaby. There was always _something_.

Earth was not like that. Michael had fallen to this alien world and had to grow used to the quiet. Living in major cities had helped him adjust, but the way song was relegated to radio and parties and was so _fleeting_ enforced a distance between him and the humans.

But he had adapted. He’d learned that silence was loud in its own way, and that quiet could be intimate; there was something about two people who could sit together in comfortable silence that was magical in its own way. It’d stopped being a sign of loneliness to be quiet.

But now, the Ramsey household was silent in a way that set his teeth on edge. There was nothing peaceful or calm about this quiet. It was a howling absence where Griffon Ramsey should've been.

The only good thing about the shitty situation was that BYTE had not gone public with the apparent attack on them. It’d been Jack who called Geoff during dinner and told him something had happened, that Sorola had attempted to infiltrate BYTE Tower and had failed miserably.

Gavin, who had been listening, immediately called Griffon. But it’d been a BYTE agent who answered her line.

Griffon was in containment, and BYTE was going to _be in touch_ to negotiate the terms of her release.

The cold silence that filled the house in the wake of that news was suffocating.

Today, after two days of being rebuffed at every turn by BYTE and two nights of intense arguments about the feasibility of saying fuck it and heading to New York to get her back themselves, Michael was feeling the loss of his homeworld and its constant comforting song more than he had in years. But he kept that shit to himself; Geoff had other things to worry about and Gavin was taking things hard.

There was nothing he could do for Geoff but be ready if he decided to make a move. Gavin, though.

Michael let himself into the Ramsey’s master suite and to the adjacent bathroom where Gavin was. It was the only bathroom in the house with a tub, and Gavin made use of it often lately, drawing a hot bath and laying in it until his fingers went strangely soft and wrinkly (humans were _strange_ ). It helped with the aches, he said.

That’s where Michael found him. He was sunk low into the big clawfoot tub, knees peeking out of the water, head submerged to right under his nose. He’d been there long enough that the water wasn’t hot anymore, but if that bothered him, he gave no sign of it, eyes closed, lips curved just slightly downward.

“Hey, you,” Michael said. There was a shortish chair in the room and Michael brought it over to the tub, sitting next to Gavin.

Gavin blinked, like he’d been asleep and was just coming out of it. “Hello yourself.”

“How are you?” Michael reached out and tucked the wet hair that hung around Gavin’s face behind his ear. His fingers skimmed the water; it would be charity to call it lukewarm. Gavin had been soaking way too long.

“Silly question.” Gavin sighed. “Is Geoff still sitting in the kitchen by the bloody phone?”

Michael nodded. “You know it’s going to be all right, right?”

“Do I?” He winced and shifted in the tub, tucking his legs down and sitting up. A shiver ran down his spine as his damp skin met the air. Without comment, Michael leaned on the edge and palmed Gavin’s back, rubbing up and down. There was no thought involved as he pressed body warmth into his skin, and Gavin hummed appreciatively. “I could have stopped her, you know.”

“Stopped her from a secret mission to hit BYTE’s stomping ground?”

“Not that bloody secret,” Gavin murmured. “I knew. I’ve known for a while now. She was meeting with Sorola every week since he came by to see us, I think.”

“Shit.” Michael stilled. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“It’s BYTE’s fault,” Gavin spat with sudden venom. There were, in the wake of his encounter with Captain Haywood, bruises splattered around his neck from fucking Narvaroth daring to touch him. They were fading already, but every time Michael caught the blur of green-black-blue-yellow marring his skin, he felt the cage in his chest rattle, the _thing_ inside growling angrily, clawing his insides in its desire to climb out of him and go fucking _find_ Narvaroth.

That wouldn’t help right now. Now, more than ever, Michael didn’t want to leave Gavin’s side. Not when he was so far into hosting the egg.

In a hushed whisper, Gavin said, “She’s supposed to be here now,” words so heavy and sorrowful that Michael felt the crushing worry and despair like it was his own.

He cupped Gavin’s chin and kissed his temple, long and lingering. “I know, babe. I know.”

Leaning into Michael, Gavin shut his eyes again. For a second, he was tempted to climb into the bath and wrap around Gavin and press heat into his body. But an even longer bath was not the answer.

“You want out?” he asked.

“No. But all right,” Gavin said, pulling away. “I put my robe in the dryer before I got in. Grab it for me?”

Michael nodded and stood. “Sure.”

The laundry room was downstairs on the main level, beyond the kitchen and next to the garage. Michael took his time, taking the stairs and everything, knowing Gavin would need some time to get out of the tub and dry off anyway.

He passed the kitchen on the way. Geoff was still there, just as he’d been when Michael had woken up in the morning and at lunchtime. He was working on his laptop, the blue light glow across his face making him look older and washed out. Michael thought about stopping, asking if there was any news, but… it was clear there wasn’t.

Everything was waiting, now. It set Michael’s teeth to grind, but the thing about dedicating the last seven or so years to self-control was that you learned to just suck it up and deal.

He grabbed the robe from the dryer, still toasty and a little staticky to the touch. The static was easily sorted under Michael’s hands, swept up into his palms and casually tucked away.

He headed back upstairs, thinking of ways he might distract Gavin, just take his mind off Griffon for an hour if he could manage that long. Michael had glutted himself on Gavin’s easy happiness for two years and missed it desperately, greedy to have it back.

His idle plans came to a halt when he got back to the bathroom.

Gavin was sitting on the floor, looking dazed, wrapped in his towel loosely with a hand pressed to his pelvis.

“Did you fall?” Michael set the robe down on the sink and knelt next to him, hand brushing down his arm. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I just…” Gavin’s brow knit together. “I couldn’t hold myself up? I-- I feel very heavy, and…” He trailed off into a low hiss, bending into an almost fetal curl. “Ow, bollocks, _ow_.” He hand flailed up, gripping Michael’s forearm in a tight grip, pushing down as he shifted uncomfortably, hissing through his teeth.

Michael’s mind washed into a total blank for a moment, and he stared stupidly at Gavin. “Uh…”

“It hurts?” Gavin looked him in the eyes, searchingly. “That’s… that’s different. It’s pushing down, I can feel it.” He fingers squeezed. “Michael?”

It was like moving through molasses. Michael’s brain stuttered and tried to drag through the initial flush of sharp, keen emotion and find the actual useful thoughts buried underneath. It was difficult. He was supposed to be doing something. Getting a mage? Humans didn’t have mages. Hospital? No. What the hell was the plan?

Gavin smacked Michael in the chest. “Oi!”

“Right!” It was the jump start he needed. He stood. “I have to call Jack. Wait, no, hang on.” He knelt again and hooked his arms under Gavin’s, lifting him carefully. Gavin held onto him, legs shaking as he got them underneath him. “Can you stand?”

“Erm. I think-- lemme lean on something. I think I just wasn’t expecting it.” His steps were slow but careful as Michael lead him to the sink, reaching out and grabbing the robe. Michael stood with him, ready to help, as he watched Gavin pull it on. Michael tied the belt for him, petting his hands down the soft material and trying not to freak out because holy fuck, egg time. They had an egg and it was ready to go and then after a month or two it would hatch and _how the hell_.

“Hey.” Gavin grabbed Michael’s chin, smushing his cheeks in. “Don’t freak out. I get to freak out, I’ve got the alien egg in me. You get me some sodding clothes and call Jack.”

“Right.” Michael pulled out of his grip, then dipped in quickly to kiss him. Gavin caught him again, hand on his shoulder, and pulled him into a deeper kiss. It was just a little desperate, Gavin’s teeth clicking against Michael’s until Michael gentled it, tipping his head and humming into Gavin’s mouth. His wrapped his arm around his waist, leaned entirely into him and tried to kiss away the worry.

“Okay?” he asked as he drew away.

“Yeah.” Gavin nodded. “Go do things.”

Things. Right.

Michael darted out of the room and down the hall. He leaned into Gavin’s bedroom, one hand caught on the door frame as he swung in and swiped his phone from the dresser, kicking away and gliding back out, momentum carrying him smoothly.

Jack was two buttons away, one of the very few numbers Michael cared to have in his phone. It was ringing before he reached the stairs and Jack was quick to pick up; it was a rare thing for Michael to call.

“Michael, hey,” Jack greeted. “What’s going on?”

Michael smiled, suddenly unable not to. A bubbly excitement was growing in his chest. “Your surgeon friend is in town, right?”

“Adam? Of course.” There was a pause. “Do we-- need him? Is it time?”

Michael drifted to a halt in the kitchen doorway before answering, now in Geoff’s earshot. “Yeah, it’s go time. Gavin’s ready for the egg to come out. We’ll meet you guys at RE’s medical wing as soon as we can get there.”

Geoff, looking up from his laptop, sucked in a breath. “Holy shit.” He got out of his chair fast enough it almost tipped over, just barely catching it in time to right it. “Oh shitting dicks, okay, I’ll get the car.”

Michael nodded to him and turned around, back upstairs. In his ear, Jack said, “Adam’s pretty local to RE. He’ll be there. I’ll call ahead and get things ready. Is Gavin all right?”

“Yeah. He’s calmer than I am. It’s kind of annoying.” Back in the bedroom, Michael grabbed some clothes: sweatpants, the sandals Gavin had worn until they were sun-faded, a shirt, change of underwear. “We’re driving, so… twenty or thirty minutes if traffic’s good.”

“Are _you_ all right?” Jack asked next. “Your phone is getting tinny. Emotional?”

Michael laughed. “Jack, I’m not even three hundred, and my bondmate and I made and egg and it’s ready for the last part of the egg cycle. There are a few emotions. One or two.”

Jack snorted. “Okay, fine. Keep calm, get Gavin to Adam, and everything will be all right. Adam may have a few questions, but he’s been studying my notes, so he knows what he’s doing.”

“Okay. Right.” Michael breathed out hard. “So I’ll just…”

“I’ll see you soon, Michael,” Jack told him kindly. “Take care.”

“Thanks.” He stayed on the line another few seconds before remembering to end the call. He shoved his phone into his pocket and headed to the master suite again. “Gav?”

He found Gavin. He didn’t get far; he was sitting on the bed, one hand still pressed to his gut. “Bloody ow,” he said with feeling, but with enough whining that Michael didn’t let himself worry.

Instead, he grinned at him and put all the clothes on the bed, picking out a few to help Gavin into. “Soon, no more ow. No more aches or needing snacks at four in the morning or sleeping half the day away.”

Gavin ducked his head, starting to smile. He let himself be dressed without much fuss, bracing himself on Michael and then swaying hard into him when he was ready to go.

Michael put his arms around him and tucked his face into Gavin’s neck, just wanting to hold him for a moment. Gavin huffed out a laugh by his ear and held on too, quietly taking the affection offered.

Sweeping his hands up and down Gavin’s back, Michael drew away enough to press their faces close, breathing together. “No matter what happens,” he whispered, “everything I want is right here.”

“I know.” Gavin nudged his nose against Michael. “You aren’t subtle, lovely boy.”

Then it was going to all right. Michael knew it. It couldn’t not be, so long as Gavin _knew_ that. It was the most important thing to him, that Gavin knew and it settled in him like a blanket laid over a fire, putting it out with softness.

Down the hall, downstairs, Geoff called, “Are we going to go have this fucking baby-egg thing or aren’t we?”

The spell passed, popped like a soap bubble, and Gavin laughed. “I need this out of me.”

“Right.” Michael stooped low enough to get his arm under Gavin’s ass, then straightened, lifting him easily off the floor. “Let’s do this,” he said, and carried him away.

 

* * *

 

The drive into Austin and to Ramsey Enterprises took longer than expected. Geoff drove while Gavin and Michael sat in the back seat. More than once, as they made their way to the city, Gavin barked angrily, “Slow it down!” between his whimpers.

“Gav, I’m just trying to get you there fast,” Geoff protested.

“I will vom on you if you don’t slow down, Geoffrey,” Gavin replied, shutting his eyes and turning his face into the seat cushions, breathing deliberate and slow.

So arriving at the green stone building that was the epicenter of the Ramseys’ work took a while. They drove to the employee entrance that lead under the building and were met at the door by scrub-wearing employees, a wheelchair, and a tall man that Michael instantly pegged as Adam. There was a certain look to the people Jack considered his friends, and Adam fit it well, with a broadness to him, a kind face, and an impressive beard.

For a long time, Michael had thought that was a cultural thing, that bearded people attracted others like them. When he’d told Gavin about this, he’d laughed himself sick before telling Michael yes, they _absolutely_ did, but in that way that meant he was probably kidding.

Michael got out, and he and Geoff helped Gavin up out of the car and into the wheelchair. “You’re Ellis then?” Geoff asked. “We’ve gone go karting before, right?”

Adam grinned and shook Geoff’s hand. “You took last place.”

“Jack fucking sabotages the cars, I swear to god,” Geoff groused. “Winning five games in a row is some statistical improbability bullshit.”

Adam laughed, and turned to Gavin. “Gavin, then? Lets get you going.”

“I’m gonna park,” Geoff said, heading back to the idling car as the rest of them went inside. The nurse who was with Adam tried to take Gavin’s chair, but Michael did some quick looming and glowering until she let him do it. He was well aware that he was useless here, that Gavin’s care was about to be taken out of his hands. This was the least he could do.

And it helped, the way Gavin tipped his head back and his still-damp hair brushed against Michael. They’d forgotten a hair tie and it all fell around his face, a few strands curling as the dried in the open air.

Inside the facility, Adam lead them to the medical wing. “We’ve got a room set up for you. I have all of Jack’s latest ultrasounds, and while this is technically an invasive procedure, it’s not _really_.”

“Can’t be worse than surgery on my bollocks,” Gavin said.

“This is way cooler,” Adam said, and when they gave him surprised looks, he went on. “Dude, I’m going to be delivering the first alien baby in history. You’re _carrying_ it. That’s pretty cool, right?”

Gavin looked bemused, but laughed quietly. “I suppose so. I sort of forgot how strange it is.”

“The surgery itself is gonna be really standard, so don’t worry. If there’s no complications, you’ll be done in an hour, hour and a half.”

It was weird, but Adam’s easy confidence was helping Michael keep it together. He was clearly the best Jack could get them and he acted like it.

They arrived at the right part of the building, the floor tiles giving away from boring white to a tiled green and navy pattern instead. They came to a stop, and Jack was there, also in scrubs.

“Oh, man, are you observing?” Adam asked him.

“My patient,” Jack answered, then looked at Gavin. “Are you okay? How are you holding up?”

“I’m in a bloody lot of pain, actually.” He winced, shifting in the chair. “Thing keeps trying to go down, but there’s nowhere to go.”

“There would be,” Michael said. “If you were amaranthine, or zephyranthine, or broshon. Or a male zaen.”

Adam looked between Jack and Michael. “Were those words? It’s like my ears just glitched out.”

“Allspeak. Michael doesn’t actually speak English,” Jack explained. “I’ll tell you more later.” He stepped forward, putting his hand over Michael’s on the handle of the wheelchair. “We’ll take him from here. And you should wait outside the building.”

Michael started, eyes narrowing. “What? Why?”

“You’re usually good about not breaking equipment, but right now we really can’t afford it if you do,” Jack said calmly, meeting Michael’s gaze head on. “And you’re emotional. Which is understandable--”

“But still means I have to go,” Michael finished, shutting his eyes. Jack was right. Jack was always right about this shit, and it was irritating. “Okay. I can keep clear.”

He stepped aside, letting Jack take hold of the chair. Gavin watched Michael, biting his lip. “Geoff, he’ll let you know when I’m out, right?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, tucking his hand into Gavin’s hair, cupping the back of his head and leaning in to kiss his temple. Gavin made a soft noise that gutted him, and he exhaled hard, kissing his closed eyes, his forehead, cheeks. “I’m going to be close.”

“I know.” Gavin smiled. “We’re going to be fine.”

“I should be the one telling you that,” Michael said, voice tight.

Gavin dragged his thumb across Michael’s lower lip, humming. “Already know it, don’t I? Go on.” He pushed Michael away. “See you soon.”

“Well, no,” Adam said. “ _He’ll_ see _you_ soon. _You_ are gonna be stoned off the good meds for a while after this. If you remember what two plus two is, I’ll be shocked.”

Gavin laughed, but it cut off into a whimper. “Okay, let’s go, seriously.”

Jack reaffirmed his grip on the chair and nodded to Michael. “Go on. We’ll take care of him.”

“Right. Okay. You better,” Michael mumbled, and watched as they took Gavin away down the hall.

Gavin looked back at him, flashing him a reassuring smile, before vanishing around the corner.

 

* * *

 

The exchange with Geoff on his way out of the building was short.

“You dropped him off?”

Michael nodded. “Hour to ninety minutes, they said. I have to leave.”

Geoff understood instantly and put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’ll let you know when they’re done. Stay in our airspace.” And with that, he left, heading to the med labs. Leaving Michael alone.

Outside, to Michael’s complete lack of surprise, it was raining. The wind was picking up, sending a chill through the city. Somewhere, there was a meteorologist cursing Michael’s name, he knew it.

Breathing in the humid air helped. He took it deep into his lungs, holding it as long as he could before sighing it out.

All he could do was wait.

Kicking off the ground, Michael flew upward, looking for a good spot. Downtown Austin had quite a few nice, tall buildings adorned with stonework and art at the top. It didn’t take long for him to spot a solid outcropping near the top of a neighbor, a bank or something with a marble facade that was fancy enough he could sit near the top under an arch. From there, he could still see down into the employee parking of RE Headquarters, would see Geoff when it was time.

Settled in and relatively dry, Michael waited, a guardian hidden by the weather as he watched over RE. It reminded him of being Mogar, or how Mogar should have been back then when he lived there at the main embarkation gate of the Bifrost in Oestret Roethe.

There was a clock tower visible from where he sat, and it was impossible not to watch the hands move around the dial.

In a while, the first Earth-born amaranthine egg would be there for him to meet.

It was fucking terrifying and amazing in turns.

He still wasn’t certain how things were going to work. Hell, he still felt too young to even be in this position, except… sometimes not. More and more, Jack’s theory made sense. From the time he set foot on Earth to now, it felt like ages had passed, that he’d passed through into some different part of his lifespan without thinking about it. His wanderlust was waning, the urge to move and travel continually fading. The thought of a home stopped seeming too distant to be real.

Michael bent forward, like a gargoyle perched on the side of the building, gazing down at the cars below, the little circles that were Austin’s people, hidden under the umbrellas they’d clearly gotten used to having on hand. He hoped he hadn’t fucked up Texas’ weather too much in the last three months, but seeing all the little colorful dots moving up and down the street made him smile.

He liked this weird little planet. Protecting it had been an attempt to atone for his previous failures, but now…

It was home. It felt closer to him than Oestret Roethe did. Maybe there was some explanation to that, something Jack would outline with biology and science. But the reasons didn’t matter.

Soon, he’d have a home. And a young amaranth to raise.

Terrifying, yep. But more amazing than anything his homeworld had ever shown him.

The first sign of movement at the entryway to RE caught his attention, and he kicked away from his hiding spot and sailed down before the figure coming out of the glass doors resolved into Geoff. Michael landed fast, jogging as he slowed down with his feet on the ground, coming to an abrupt stop in front of Geoff. “Any news? Is he okay?”

Geoff chuckled at Michael’s appearance and haste. “You don’t fuck around with your waiting game there, huh sparky?”

“ _Geoff_ ,” Michael said, twinged with desperation.

“Gavin is fine and recovering. Jack has the egg. Got a glimpse of it,” he said. “Congrats, you’re the father of a bouncing baby semi-precious rock.”

Michael rolled his eyes, but there was a tension simmering in him. “Can I see him?”

Before Geoff could answer, the light about the doorway popped, a few sparks flying from it. Both of them startled, and dropped into similar stances, knees bent, eyes alert.

When nothing else happened, Geoff shot Michael a look. “Really?”

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m… Hold on.” Michael stepped to the wall and leaned his back against it, bending forward with his hands clasped and between his knees. Jack had not been wrong about his emotions. He pressed his palms together and started taking deep breaths, pushing them out through his nose, willing himself to chill the fuck out.

He saw Geoff’s feet, and the man was wearing blue plaid slippers. He must’ve forgotten to put on actual shoes in their rush to leave. “I would pat your shoulder, but I think you’d shock me right now,” Geoff said.

“Probably.” Michael shook his head. “I’m trying.”

“Take your time.”

“But--”

“Gavin’s not going to miss you when he’s knocked out on the good shit, and Jack’s busy shining penlights at the egg and taking its weight. You can have five minutes.”

A plaintive voice in Michael’s head cried that even five minutes was too long after over an hour of sitting around and waiting, that he was needed _right now_. It was hard to ignore that voice, but Michael felt the uneasy power humming through him and knew he had to get a grip before going anywhere.

Geoff stayed with him, waiting with Michael until he was ready.

 

* * *

 

Gavin really didn’t miss him, Geoff was right. When Michael finally made his way to the recovery room Gavin was in, he was dead to the world, sleeping deeply in a pale blue robe, a monitor connected to his finger, blankets drawn up to his chest.

Lingering in the doorway a moment, Michael watched his chest move, the steady rhythm a comfort.

The fact that he was okay only hit Michael then. He sagged against the doorframe, dragging a hand through his hair and pulling at it until it stung him. The little bit of pain was grounding and helped him keep calm.

Gavin was fine. Michael had screwed up with the whole thing, sprung it all on Gavin and it still worked out. Everything was going to be fine.

He repeated that to himself for a moment, willing it to sink in.

“Hey,” a gruff voice said behind him. “Michael, right?”

Michael looked up. Jack’s surgeon friend, who presumably was just cleaning up from having had his hands in Gavin, was standing over him. There wasn’t a drop of red to him, though he was wearing different scrubs than before. Michael was glad he didn’t have to see… any of it.

“Adam, right?” Michael answered in turn.

Adam grinned. “Yup. So Gavin’s going to be out for a while, then he’ll be tired for a longer while. He’s got some recovery ahead of him, so he has to take it easy. The incision was clean though and he shouldn’t even have to worry about a big scar.”

Right. Human medicine. Michael looked back at Gavin, where there were stitches hiding under his blankets and robe. “That’s good.”

“This is pretty obvious, but no straining, no lifting _anything_. Treat him like glass for a while,then easy exercises.”

“Okay.” Michael didn’t have any problems with that, and Gavin would be used to resting most of the day. If anything, he was worried Gavin would be going stir crazy, but there was nothing for it.

Adam clapped a hand on his shoulder, and Michael blinked, coming out of a mental fog. “New parents having a bit of shock is normal.”

“Yeah…” Michael shook himself hard. “The-- the egg, where--?”

“Jack’s doing the usual write-up. He’s having to improvise with some of the fields, I think. Your _baby_ is the smallest in the county, easily. Just under three inches, I think?” He stepped back. “He’ll be by soon. Hey, thanks.”

“Thanks?”

Adam shrugged. “You guys came to me for it. It was an honor. I hope everything works out.” He lifted his hand. “Later. If you need anything, have a nurse call me. I’ll be around for a few hours.”

Michael nodded. “Thank you. For taking care of him.”

There was that smile again, quick and warm. Without anything further, Adam turned and left him, heading down the hall and, as far as Michael could assume, out of his life. It was weird to think about that; he just helped advance Michael’s life in a major way and had left so suddenly after. Where he came from, there would have been gatherings and song and way too much honey mead if Michael’s father had any say in the matter.

It was almost underwhelming, this way. It made him want to fly laps around the city and bring snow down from the north as some sort of celebration. Anything.

Instead, he finally walked over the threshold of the room and went to stand by Gavin’s bed, watching as he slept. He’d certainly earned that after all his hard work.

Eventually, Jack appeared, pushing a wheeled cart in front of him. The two of them shared a look, but were quiet. Even if there was little chance of Gavin waking up, it still felt like a time for hushed words and careful steps.

Jack looked at the monitor next to Gavin’s bed, picking up a clipboard and writing a few things down before replacing it at the foot of the bed. “Everything looks good.”

Michael nodded, trying not to stare too hard at the cart. All he could see was the walls of the basket on top and some cloth spilling out the sides.

Jack smiled at him. “The card says Baby Ramsey-Free-Jones, but that’s probably inaccurate. We can revise it later. Did you guys have a name?”

“No. Gavin might.” Taking a few jerky steps, Michael circled around the bed to where the basket was.

He’d never seen an egg up close, he realized. None of his clutchmates had their own yet and his family hadn’t had another child before he was banished. Eggs didn’t remain out of the gardens for long and were well-guarded once they arrived, so there was never the opportunity to just look at one.

His was sitting on top of blankets and pillows in a basin that was obviously sized for human babies. The egg was a great deal smaller and stood out as it lay in the center of the linens. He could understand now what Geoff said earlier about it looking like a stone; it was a mostly smooth sphere with a glassy shell, and underneath looked a bit like an opal. The color was light and shifted hues, reds to yellows, greens bleeding into blues that darkened to violet and back again. It gave the impression of being transparent, but Michael couldn’t see the pink blanket through the egg, just more pale colors amid a milky white.

There was an outer surface, a gritty, brittle layer. Michael reached into the basket and picked up the egg, held securely in his cupped hands, and ran his nail under the delicate coating and started flaking it off, revealing more of the glossy, bright egg under it.

Jack started, hand extended as he sucked in a breath. “What are you--”

“This isn’t part of it. It’s just the filmy stuff that hardened in the open air.” He looked around the room, searching, then carried it over to the sink against the wall. “Get me a towel.”

Jack hesitated for a moment before darting out of the room. He came back with a small face cloth that Michael took.

Under warm water, Michael loosened the superfluous layer, picking it off with his fingers and rubbing the surface underneath with the dampened towel until it was clean. He rinsed the towel, shaking free the remnants like loose soil before spinning the egg against it, thoroughly sweeping it all away.

He dried it after with a paper towel from the dispenser as Jack watched, frowning deeply. Michael arched an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“You just washed your egg in tap water.”

Michael smiled. “It’s an egg. And it’s going to be impermeable and hard for two or three weeks, so…” He cradled it between his hands, walking back to the bed. “There. All clean.”

“Two weeks?” Jack asked.

Michael nodded. “Eggs finish development outside the parent’s body, usually for a few weeks. Then the shell softens and expands until the kid’s ready and can bust out.” His smile widened. “Then comes the hard part, I guess.”

“What?”

“Raising them.” Michael stood over Gavin, who wasn’t any closer to waking up than before. The bed was large, and Michael keenly eyed the space next to Gavin. “Can I lay down with him?”

“Hm.” Jack took off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt. He did that a lot, Michael noticed, maybe just to give himself time to think. “If you are very careful. Don’t jostle him and be careful of his stitches.”

Michael nodded, already toeing off his shoes. It was easy to lift off the ground and hover over the bed until he could slot himself into open space along Gavin’s side. He curled around him, careful of his belly but laying an arm across him. The egg was tucked into his hand, cupped against the space opposite. There was body warmth under his arm and the cool shell under his palm.

He tucked his face into Gavin’s hair, breathing deeply, urging his racing heartbeat to slow. Gavin was fine. The egg was fine. By some fucking miraculous chance, things had actually worked out.

The light flicked off, and Michael opened one eye to see Jack silently leaving. Michael was sure he had questions, and appreciated him holding off on them. There was no way Michael was prepared to answer anything. All he wanted was to lay like this, soaking in the deep relief he felt.

The only lights in the room came from under the door and from the egg, the latter glowing faintly, the shimmer peaking out between Michael’s fingers.

He lifted his hand, looking at the egg, and said softly, “I’m sorry, I don’t have a name for you yet. Soon, though.”

The egg didn’t say anything back, which was to be expected. Michael put his head back down, shutting his eyes and slipping into a doze.

 

* * *

 

Geoff came by, taking a chair next to the bed, and telling Michael to call him “grandpappy” from then on. Michael didn’t, because that was weird, but let Geoff hold the egg in his hands.

“It’s heavier than it looks,” he said, his good humor fading into quiet awe. “Whatsit, a good eight or ten pounds?”

Michael shrugged one shoulder. It felt light to him, so he didn’t care much about that. “Do you know when we can go?”

“Jack wants Gavin overnight at least, and probably another day after that. Standard for surgery if nothing goes wrong. Then he has to take it easy for a few weeks anyway.”

Michael nodded and dragged his fingers through Gavin’s hair. “So much for a little vacation. He’ll still be recovering when the egg’s ready.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll be around to help you guys.” A dark flash crossed Geoff’s face. “I’ll be around.”

Michael met his eyes, reading the anger and hurt there. Oh. “We’ll get her back before then. If we have to destroy that eyesore of a tower, we’ll get her back.”

Geoff nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we will.” His words were clipped, though. Carefully, he passed the egg back to Michael. “I’m going to talk to Jack. Be back later.”

“Sure.” There wasn’t much more Michael could say. Griffon’s absence was starting to eat at him too. She should’ve been with them.

It was hard to hold onto that disappointment with the egg in his palm. It was still solid and safe there, and Michael sat up, cautious of Gavin next to him, and held the gleaming sphere between his hands, staring into it like he could learn from the amorphous swirls of color and light who was inside.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb. The shell was so smooth it almost felt slick against his skin. It was perfectly dry, though, and on a whim, Michael brought it to his lips, kissing the surface swiftly, and grinning at the impression he left before brushing it away.

“Eugh. That was inside me,” Gavin said. Michael closed his hands around the egg, turning to catch Gavin’s eyes slit open just enough to see, his head lolling as he shifted to look at Michael.

Michael laughed. “So was my tentacle, never stopped you before.”

Gavin snorted, eyes shutting. “Don’t talk about blowjobs in front of the egg, it’s rude.”

Setting the egg on the bed next to him, Michael leaned over Gavin, fingertips running along his jaw. “Are you awake?”

“S’much as you can be on morphine or whatever the bollocks.” His arm moved from where it’d been laying limp by his head, swinging slowly down to his belly, scratching.

Michael caught his wrist and pushed it back down. “Best not, babe.”

“Awww,” Gavin whined, eyes opening again. He weakly tugged his arm free and patted the bed. “Where’s it?”

Laying back onto his side, Michael scooped up the egg and held it up for Gavin to see. His eyes widened, a bit of alertness returning to him as he caught sight of it. He touched it with a finger, lightly at first before curling his hand around it where Michael’s wasn’t. “That’s it, then? That’s the…”

“Yup.” Michael leaned in, pressing his mouth to Gavin’s cheek in a full kiss. “You did it.”

“I did. God, I’m pretty amazing.” Gavin beamed, face rosy and flushed. “Everything’s good then?”

“Yep.”

“Was…” Gavin’s smile vanished as he seemed to think very hard. “Griffon’s still gone?”

Michael felt a pang. “Yeah.”

“She was s’posed to be here.” He sighed. His nails ran over the egg’s shell, expression sad and thoughtful.

If he could, Michael would take on all of BYTE himself and tear down their organization just to give Griffon back to this family. Even if Michael always felt some distance between himself and Griffon, he respected the woman more than nearly anyone else on the planet. Her tireless mind and the brutal strength she wielded and the love she had for her husband and son. More than anything, Michael wished things had been different. Not the egg itself, but Griffon’s absence. It was just wrong, and it made him sick with anger at fucking Captain Haywood for darkening what should have been a time for celebration.

“I know,” Michael said, because he couldn’t say all of that. Not now. “You should rest.”

“Mm. You’d think I were tired of sleep but, god…” Gavin mumbled, eyes shutting. Michael thought he was about to fall back to sleep, but he didn’t, coming awake again suddenly. “Oh, oh, Michael.” He thumped his hand against Michael’s chest. “Michael.”

“I’m right here, Gav. What’s wrong?”

Gavin tilted his head until he could catch Michael’s eyes. “I have a name. Been sitting on it for a few days. Should’ve told you before I got all surgeried.”

“A name. For the egg?” Gavin nodded. “Good, because according to the little card, it’s named Baby and that’s weird.”

“Brio,” Gavin said, suddenly sounding completely coherent, like he’d shook off the haze over his mind out of sheer determination. “Brio. It’s a musical thing, it’s spirit or vigor. I think it’s Italian, like me. Well, sort of.” He bit his lip. “Does that work? Does it sound good for an amaranth?”

“That’s…” Michael swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. “Brio. Brio’s good. It’s really good.”

Gavin smiled and slumped back against the bed. “Good.” He tapped his finger to the egg. “You’re Brio. Congratulations on being born. Or, almost born, I guess.”

Slipping away, Michael sat up again, seized by the need to do this right. So much about his child’s life was going to be different and distant from their homeworld, but this had to be done right.

He held the egg balanced on his fingertips, splayed in a ring around it, and told it, “Kìfokèmtígas ellBrio, Gabénókèlgeng thíthsopàkèrr, Ttélbérd fófengeng térshpaxém, Hàkèr hèrrfhenbsél.”

Old traditions. Michael kissed the egg again, a quick peck, before laying down again as he had before: Gavin under his arm, the egg under his palm, both of them safe.

Gavin tipped his head to rest against Michael’s. “What was that? What’d you say?”

Soft into his ear, Michael said, “Welcome, Brio, born of Gavin and Michael, descendant of the Burning King, first upon Earth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEY DON'T SKIP THIS NOTE
> 
> LOOK OVER HERE
> 
> okay good i have your attention
> 
> An _enormous_ thank you goes to tumblr user lonelylinguist for being inspired by the series and sitting down and applying their expertise to make Michael's amaranthine language an actual thing. Two relevant links for you, gentle readers:
> 
> 1\. [lonelylinguist's GDoc](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1uuVHbkXv3HyAxIxXUgddtBo7Gp0SWdjA0LlydyWQexA/edit) that outlines how Michael's language sounds and its structure along with meta on how Allspeak must work. I'll be honest, I am not smart enough for some of this, but it is extremely cool.
> 
> 2\. Specific to this chapter, after giving me the translation of Michael proclaimation, lonelylinguist also recorded _how it actually sounds_. You owe it to yourself to check it out. [I have it uploaded for your streaming needs over here.](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/81941010459/) Please give it a listen.
> 
> I'm flattered and honored. 8)


	10. by hook or by crook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, I had a new job to get settled into and midterms to handle. I'm back now and we're in the final stretch and this chapter kicks off the endgame. Please fasten your seatbelts and keep your hands securely inside the vehicle for the duration of the ride.

Agent Caleb Denecour was a unique person, even in the context of BYTE and its collection of spies, data technologists, soldiers, and alien refugees. Nothing about him had seemed to fit the mold for an operative of the organization. He’d been a freckle-splattered Texas boy whose credentials had included coaching local sport teams, volunteer work, and a degree in business administration. Getting picked as an administrative assistant’s assistant had been ridiculous. Going from that position to being training coordinator for the organization had made no sense. Finding the time to follow along with some of the non-lethal combat lessons should’ve been impossible. Becoming an accepted ringer for BYTE’s strike teams, then becoming the team leader for one such unit had been a clear bit of sleight of hand. The stack of entirely classified commendations he’d collected--

If someone asked Caleb how he’d reached his position in BYTE, he would kindly demur with something about making himself available, about hard work, and about the importance of working together. It was an easier answer than the truth: he had made his way in life by being the Hail Mary in every situation. He’d climbed the ladder at BYTE by inserting himself into the peripheral vision of important people, letting them find him standing there, inviting smile and can-do attitude and all, whenever they’d started to look for candidates for new positions. It was his greatest skill, putting himself in the right place and waiting patiently for the right time.

It had elevated him to being the right hand man to Captain America. His mother would’ve been so proud of him if he were allowed to tell her about any of it.

Being a government agent and accomplished spy made for bad small talk at family dinners.

That was a small trade off for the bigger picture. He could sacrifice for the betterment of humanity. Something like ‘family’ was small potatoes compared to being the man walking through BYTE with the security credentials to open any door in the tower.

Like today. He had exciting news humming through him, making each step he took down the winding hallways of BYTE Tower brisk and quick. The wait was over. Not that his days of preparation and oversight and playing sounding board for Captain Haywood had been languishing around on the job, but it was _his turn now_.

Provided all the pieces were ready. There were three things they needed for the Captain’s new initiative to succeed.

Caleb let himself into BYTE’s main technology lab to check on two of them.

The lab was a special area of BYTE in that it was all drawn from BYTE’s own people. There was not a Ramsey nor Oum emblem on anything, not so much as a tablet pen that carried those de rigueur logos of the R&D giants that were plastered over half of the rest of the facility. It was further isolated onto its own network that did not extend beyond the lab. The work done there was of the utmost secrecy, and only a handful of people had access to it.

Caleb was one of them, and upon arriving, sought out the head technician. “Risinger,” he said warmly, shaking the man’s hand. “Could you give me an update on the project?”

Risinger had been like Caleb once. He’d been an exceptional recon man who shifted to tech work because he enjoyed it and because he was less likely to get killed horribly in a secure lab, less likely to abandon his family. Caleb considered himself lucky, not having those sorts of ties holding him back, but respected the man’s decision. He was a good researcher.

“Well,” Risinger started slowly, looking across the room. There was a project table there, surrounded by bustling staff. “We’ve finally gotten to a working design. This one’s freshly made and we’re doing the fittings for testing with Narvaroth.” He ran a hand through his hair, a perfect coif that fell back into place. Caleb had always thought of Risinger a bit like the Captain; good jaw, clear eyes, and easily handsome in a way that could either be intimidating or attractive. “Recreating Gav’s design hasn’t been easy, but we think we’ve got it.”

“Narvaez,” Caleb said, earning a confused look from Risinger. “His name is Ray Narvaez.”

There was a pause before Risinger nodded. “Of course. Sorry.”

“You’ve needed extensions on this project twice over now and we’re still not sure it’s a working device,” Caleb pointed out.

“Okay, for one: we had no access to the gauntlets after Gav made them and gave them to Nar-- vaez.” Risinger counted on his fingers. “Two, all the blueprints and documentation was kept on his private servers while he was here.”

“And we didn’t get a copy of that?” Caleb asked, nose wrinkling. “He was literally living in the tower.”

“He brought all of his own equipment, refused to let anyone mess with any of it, and set it all up himself, including sealing everything in a private VLAN.” He waved a hand to the room around them. “Hard to blame him when we’re using the same system.” He held up another finger, apparently not done outlining the troubles of the project. “Three, all the testing he did with Narvaez was in private on one of the roof terraces. It’s windy out there, Agent Denecour.”

“So none of our mics picked up when they were talking about.” He had to admit, the deck wasn’t exactly stacked in their favor. It explained the months of work, of trial and error. “But now?”

Risinger grinned. “But now we have made the gauntlets as close to spec as we can. Later today, Narvaez will test them, and if that goes well, we’ll mount the artifact.”

“Get the testing done fast,” Caleb told him. “News from Austin. Ramsey-Free and Mogar had their-- egg. It’s named Brio Ramsey-Jones.”

Rocking back on his heels, Risinger’s mirth fell from his face. “Oh. So you’re…”

Caleb nodded. “Stopped in to speak to you first, but I’ll be in transit in the hour.” He reached out, squeezed Risinger’s arm with easy warmth and a confident smile. He could feel the way Risinger stiffened under his hand, then tried relax, knowing Caleb would pick up on his discomfort. Caleb smiled even wider. “Get the test going now. Get the artifact set right after. I’m going to go kick a hornet’s nest.”

“Yes, sir,” Risinger said, grave and still. “Good luck. Be safe.”

Caleb wondered if Risinger meant that. It didn’t matter, really. He didn’t need luck and he hadn’t been safe since he earned the name Black Widow.

 

* * *

 

After the lab, Caleb needed ten minutes to prepare.

He picked out a soft, stripey tee that suited the season and its oppressive heat, black jeans, and a suit jacket. It wasn’t dress code for BYTE, even remotely, but it was the perfect disguise for this.

There were no weapons on him, which was a bold move that made him feel even bolder. He mussed the part of his hair and stared at his own reflection for a while. Slowly, he watched the hardness around his eyes soften, the sharp flicks of his pupils slowing down. He smiled, then put it away and tried a different one, continuing until he found the one that would get his foot in the door.

Settling on the right now, he stretched, his arms held high behind his back, and when he dropped them, his shoulders were looser, and his arms swung more when he turned.

There. Ten minutes. Ready for the lions’ den.

He made his way out of his quarters to where his pilot was waiting for him. Speed was the name of the game today, and while he’d be taking the usual helicopter to Austin, his real ride would be waiting for him there to bring him back. Something that could outrun a god of lightning and the Iron Man suit.

Narvaroth caught him on his way. Even now, finding him stalking through the halls of BYTE Tower felt like finding a poisonous snake at a picnic. The Captain said that he was a snake who was on their side, though, and so he was.

Narvaroth didn’t say anything at first, just hooked two fingers in the collar of Caleb’s shirt and pulled it down enough to reveal the skintight suit underneath. “You’re going to cook in that,” he remarked, not bothering to fake concern.

“Better than being shot instantly,” Caleb said. “You’re on your way to the lab?”

He nodded. “Sorry my schedule’s full. You could use the help.”

Caleb smiled. “D’you think?”

From his pocket, Narvaroth pulled out something, hidden in his palm. He looked at Caleb’s hands and waited until he held one out before dropping it there. A small token, like a coin without any mint marks or writing, landed in Caleb’s hand. “Break that. You’ll be hidden from sight for thirty seconds.”

Caleb held it between his fingers and narrowed his eyes. The token weighed nothing. In fact, there was no indication he was holding anything at all, just the vision of the thing right before his eyes with no texture behind it. “Is this a time for your jokes?”

“It’s illusory magic, man,” Narvaroth said sourly. “It’s a feast for the eyes, not for touch. It’ll work.” He smirked. “And you’ll need the leg up.”

Palming it, Caleb shoved it into his jacket pocket, holding it still in his fist. He felt if he let go of it, he’d never find it again. “Risinger needs you post-haste. The plan’s going to be in motion as soon as I get back. You need to be ready.”

“I’ll be ready to go. You’re the one who could fuck everything up. Pressure, pressure, pressure.” He gave Caleb a sympathetic look. “This is the hard part.”

Silently, Caleb asked the Captain forgive him before stepping in closer to Narvaez, voice low and soft like butter. “I have a lot of respect for you, _Ray_ , but I don’t need your concern. We both know about disguises and illusions, but I’m not going to play humble and pretend I am not the best in the world at this. This isn’t magic or whatever it is you do. Maybe you can fool their eyes, but I'm going to walk in there and they're going to _trust me_. They're going to let me walk into their midst and take what they hold most dear, and there will be nothing they can do to stop me. It will be a work of art, not the plastic dollar store mask you used on Ramsey-Free.” The way Narvaroth's mouth dropped open in silent outrage was gratifying, like a long hot shower after an afternoon of combat training. There was nothing false about the happiness in his smile then. “But division of labor is important, so let’s both stick to what we know. Teamwork is important.”

He sidestepped around Narvaroth after, moving quickly. It wouldn’t do to keep his pilot waiting, to keep the future waiting.

After all, the sooner it came, the sooner Caleb would be rid of the smug asshole’s face. Pardon the French.

 

* * *

 

The helicopter let him off some distance from the Ramseys’ property. He wanted the separation, aware that BYTE was associated heavily with its black helicopters, zipping around and descending on _problems_ until the problems went away. Out of all the PR repairs the Captain instituted, that was among the hardest. He didn’t want to risk it. The operation was going to be delicate enough already. The Captain was counting on him.

The world was, really.

Caleb was used to heavy weights on his shoulders though. He’d lead all of his friends to the proverbial slaughter, after all.

Briefcase in hand, Caleb braved the heat of Texas and made his way to the ranch house, up the path to the porch. It took a lot of effort to not hurry into the shade, but he managed, arriving calmly and rapping his fist against the door.

It opened, and he was face to face with Geoff Ramsey. The man’s facial hair was a little out of control and his gaze was anything but welcoming as it fell on Caleb like lead. “Which one are you, then?” he asked gruffly.

He hadn’t really expected a friendly hello, though, so that was perfectly fine. “Agent Denecour, sir.” He didn’t bother holding out a hand, knowing Ramsey would ignore it just because he could and his family enjoyed their dramatics. “I thought we could work on getting your wife released.”

Magic words. Ramsey stiffened, breath coming just a bit too fast. “I s’pose you want to come inside.”

Caleb spread his hands peaceably. “We could talk on the porch, if you prefer, but then I would ask you for a drink. It’s a hot day in the south.”

“Hm.” Ramsey stared at him until Caleb’s eyes itched from the effort of not blinking. “Come in. You try anything, we’ll fuck you up.”

Bowing his head, he stepped into the house, inhaling the the almost arctic chill from the air conditioner. “Thank you. I’ll be quick about this, I know you’re anxious to see Dr. Ramsey again.”

Ramsey didn’t reply, getting a sour look on his face. He nodded Caleb down to a wide doorway that opened into the living room. Inside, Ramsey-Free and Mogar were sitting together on the sofa. Ramsey-Free had his feet in Mogar’s lap and his hands wrapped around a controller as he played a game on the big screen. They paid Caleb no mind, and Caleb used that to survey the rest of the room, wondering if--

There was something that stood out in the room. On the table, there were the usual books, remotes, coasters and drinks scattered around. In the center, though, was a basket, the inside heavily padded with knitting and lumpy pillows. In the middle was a sphere of what looked like opal that had come to life, shifting and blurring colors together in a slow cycle. It could have been a centerpiece in any other home, but Caleb knew it for what it was immediately. Narvaroth had briefed him on what an amaranthine egg looked like.

He needed to say something before Ramsey took the initiative. Coughing quietly, Caleb said, “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

The two on the sofa looked up in surprise. Gavin’s brows knit together as he recognized Caleb, and Caleb smiled gently back at him. “You were there for my little _meeting_ with Ryan.”

“I was. I’m still sorry about that,” Caleb said, circling around the sofa to the middle of the room, putting himself in plain sight and setting his briefcase on the table, taking care to only look at the egg for a moment. It would put everyone on their guard if he showed too much interest in it.

“I don’t suppose my necklace is in there,” Gavin went on sourly.

“No. Sorry. I couldn’t tell you much about where it went, I’m afraid.” He looked around. “May I sit?”

Ramsey walked in, standing over Gavin, still watching Caleb severely, which he’d expected. Griffon Ramsey was in BYTE custody, and his son had a long, illustrious history of being abducted. Caleb kept his distance and sat down on the edge of one of the chairs.

He had read up on transcripts and reports of interactions with the Ramsey family unit, so he was unsurprised when Mogar kept quiet, his hand curled over Gavin’s ankle and his gaze blank but trained on Caleb’s movements. Caleb was ready for it when Gavin was the one to speak. “You’re not here for fun. How do we get Griffon back?”

“My money’s on a ransom of some kind,” Ramsey said in a low growl, crossing his arms over his chest, tattoos on display. If there was time, Caleb would have liked to see them.

“No. No ransom.” Caleb drummed his fingers on his knees. “Look at it from our perspective. Dr. Ramsey was an integral party to an infiltration of our facility. We’ve had to hold onto her to find out how much she knows and from where.” He looked them in the faces, holding each of their gazes in turn. “If we wanted to ruin Ramsey Enterprises with this, all we’d have to do is inform the media that she was a part of the team that hit us. We haven’t.” He tipped his head. “Sign of good faith, I hope.”

“Then we can have her back, right?” Gavin asked, and the current of want in his voice was obvious, the way he looked so hopeful and earnest impossible to conceal. It was almost cruel to level it against him, against all of them, Griffon Ramsey’s return a golden bullet in his gun.

Caleb nodded. “Captain Haywood is ready to release her. That is contingent on you,” he looked to Ramsey, “sitting down with him for a talk. It’s been hard to get even the most basic communication going between us. The Captain’s willing to overlook this as an… apology for the ways we’ve wronged you in the past.” He smiled, the one he’d practiced and picked just for this moment. “Time to bury the hatchet, maybe?”

“I want my necklace back then,” Gavin said curtly, then immediately looked chastened, glancing up at Ramsey. The man put a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Ramsey can talk about that with the Captain. I don’t have the power to bargain for that. I just know it’s part of the technology work going on.” Caleb shrugged. “Today, I’m the errand boy, I’m afraid.”

It was only then that Mogar finally said something. “You can’t go unarmed,” he murmured.

“Oh, I won’t.” Ramsey flashed his teeth. “I’m going in full suit. I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“Then you’ll come back with me?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah, kid, I’ll come and talk to that-- I’ll talk to Haywood.” He patted Gavin on the head, ruffling his hair. “Michael will stay with you. If you don’t hear back from me by tonight, raise some hell.”

“‘Course,” Gavin said, and smiled with a bite. “We’re good at that.”

Caleb ducked his head, huffing out a laugh. They were, it was true. There were few people that were more dangerous in the world than the Ramsey-Free family. And they shared that top slot with the alien sitting at Gavin’s side.

Candidate one, Mogar. It was strange to even look at him. He didn’t look like much of a threat. He didn’t look like the being that could have taken down BYTE Tower singlehandedly and without effort. Which made him even more intimidating, really.

There was a reason he was still at the top of the Captain’s list.

“Should I inform the Captain you’re on your way, Mr. Ramsey?” Caleb asked, pulling out his phone.

“Right now?”

With a guileless blink, he said, “I imagined you wanted Dr. Ramsey released as soon as possible.”

“Well, shit, yeah,” Ramsey said, pushing away from the sofa. “I’ll get suited up.” And he left the room swiftly, swallowing the bait hook, line, and sinker.

Caleb nodded distractedly and began typing a message out to his escape pilot, letting her know it was time to fire up the engine. “Good, good. Um.” Once Ramsey was gone, Caleb looked owlishly at the other two. “Sorry, this is poor form, but could I get a drink? Even just some water?”

Gavin got to his feet, standing hunched for a moment before straightening, a hand flat against his abdomen. Surgery scar, most likely. “Hang on.”

“ _You_ hang on,” Mogar chided, standing with him and placing a hand on his back. “Easy does it, I’ll get it. Relax.”

“I’m fine. I’m supposed to exercise anyway.”

“ _I’ll get it_ ,” Mogar repeated, grimacing at the glare Gavin shot him. Even Caleb knew he’d pay for that later. Or, would’ve. Nonetheless, he stepped out of the room, going to retrieve a drink and leaving Gavin alone with Caleb.

There would be time to be pleased over a job well done later. After tomorrow, Caleb planned on taking a nice vacation. He deserved it and it was important to treat himself after a long assignment like this.

For now, he unlatched the briefcase that had been sitting innocuously on the coffee table since he’d got in. The sound of the latches opening jolted Gavin, and Caleb was quick to assuage him with a cool, “One more thing, Dr. Ramsey-Free.” In his peripheral, he saw the man relax. The seeds he planted back in the hotel grew roots, giving him just enough time for what was next.

Flipping the case open, Caleb powered up the device inside and set it off. The portable EMP machine wasn’t standard issue for BYTE agents and it wasn’t as subtle as Caleb usually liked, but it was exactly what he needed now.

The entire house went dark. There had been a low hum to the home that Caleb only noticed now in its absence. The technology that was allegedly built into every wall went dead, killing the lights, the security, and the labs underground. If his timing was right, he’d have caught Ramsey in the middle of suiting up, but that would just be a bonus. He already had his window and he took it.

Gavin gasped and started to call, either for Ramsey or Mogar, but Caleb got to him first. He was easy to catch, too slow on the draw to scramble away; and Caleb caught him by the throat and while Gavin was too shocked to react, he spun him around, twisting his arm up his back and wrapping his arm around Gavin’s neck in a classic choke hold. Despite that, his hold wasn’t tight enough to choke the man, but Gavin would be too panicked to really notice that. The illusion of danger was always better than the reality of it, in Caleb’s experience.

Mogar returned quickly, and Caleb planted his foot against Gavin’s lower back and shoved him away, dropping to one knee and reaching, hand closing around the glowing sphere nestled into the basket on the table before leaping back and away.

As Mogar dove to catch Gavin and assure himself he was all right, he completely missed Caleb’s grab. He only spotted Caleb when he was already backing away to the door. When he did, the entire house whined, and the air caught a sudden almost-scent or not-quite-taste of static as it charged around him. “You slimy fucking piece of shit,” he said in a low rumble, setting Gavin on the sofa and circling in counterpoint to Caleb. Now, he didn’t look so innocuous and plain. His shoulders hung low, hand set in open claws at his sides, and Caleb couldn't avoid thinking of an old camping trip when a great bear happened upon his tent. It was something monstrous and surreally calm until the moment it suddenly wasn’t.

Caleb held up his hand, the egg held tight in it, and spoke fast as he reached into his pocket. “How fast are you, Mogar? Can you take me out _and_ catch it? Can you stop me before I crush it?” He held the vibrant amber gaze leveled at him, willing himself to not falter now. This was the sell, to make the fear bigger than the voice of reason. “You could just zap me, but that could force my hand to clench shut as I die. I don’t think you can risk it, but I’m willing to find out. Are you?”

“Michael,” Gavin whimpered, rolling to his knees, holding his gut and staring at the egg.

“I’ll kill you,” Mogar said intently, stance shifting like he was preparing to pounce. He'd take the first opportunity he saw, so Caleb couldn't give him one. “If you fucking dare--”

“Nuh-uh.” Caleb shook his head. “You’re not going to risk it. Smart man.” He flicked his eyes to Gavin briefly, catching a glimpse of the fear that was writ large on his face. “Sorry about this, Doctor. But I have orders.”

The token in his pocket took a precious second to find, but once Caleb found it, it snapped crisply at the first hard pressure of his thumb nail against it, and from it poured a tingling, cold sensation that enveloped his entire body.

Either Narvaroth was full of shit, or he had thirty seconds. Whichever it was, he had to be quick about it.

Caleb swung the door open and leapt away from it, tucking the asset safely away and stripping off his jeans, jacket, and shirt in a flurry of motion that was thankfully invisible. It wasn’t him at his most graceful, to say the least.

As predicted, Mogar rocketed out the door with such speed Caleb staggered. Once clear, Caleb dropped his disguise on the floor, left with the stealth suit he’d worn underneath. It was hot as blazes, but it minimized his heat signature, and given the distance he had to run before getting clear, that was vital.

He could hear Gavin shouting behind him, high-pitched and distraught, as he braced himself and took off.

There were many reasons that Caleb had been selected for this assignment. He was the Captain’s right hand man. He was one of the few people with enough clearance to know what was going on. He could talk his way in and out of most situations with practiced ease.

And, as was currently relevant, he was the fastest short distance runner in BYTE.

Twenty-five seconds. He bolted, out of the house, down the wooden porch, vaulting over the railing to land in the grass, and turned towards the far treeline that was his only cover. Overhead, for certain, Mogar was looking for him with an eagle eye.

At least he had that on his side, Mogar flying high above; Caleb could run fast or he could run silently, but never both, and as he crossed the field, his feet pounded against the earth, launching him forward with each step. He didn’t look up or around himself, simply focused on getting to the treeline. They would know to look for him there, but they would have to _go looking_ for him.

There was one thing on his side. Overhead, the clear summer day was darkening as grey clouds burst out of nowhere, blotting out the sun and it's oppressive heat. Just that shift was bracing, cooling the air around him as he dragged it into his lungs.

Caleb crashed into the underbrush, body still tingling from whatever illusion was dragging onto his skin. He didn’t stop to look back, still too close to risk it. It was harder to navigate now, as he had no intel on the fastest path through the woods, but he was close enough to relative safety he could almost taste it, like sweet cherries bursting as he’d bite down.

He jumped over a creek, landed poorly and rolled to keep his momentum. The asset was nestled against him, and he twisted to avoid hurting it. If not for his suit and the reinforcements sewn into it, he might’ve sprained his ankle. As it was, he was just sore, increasingly so as he kept running. There were unknowns hanging over him. How long would it take for Mogar to see through his blinding fury and check the trees? How long before the Ramsey house came back online, and from there how long before Iron Man joined the search?

And, really, who needed this many trees in their backyard?

Caleb hit the other side, his invisibility long gone, and reached up to catch himself on a low-hanging branch, jerking to a halt still under the canopy’s cover. He’d tried to run straight through, but there was only so much he could to to stay on course.

It was close enough, though. Just a few meters away was his ride, a VTOL jet sitting like a great, terrifying beast just clear of the trees. The top hatch was open and the engines were already fired up.

Caleb whistled, waiting for the pilot’s head to jerk towards the sound. The woman gave him a thumbs up, and he raced forward again, climbing up and into the cockpit behind her.

“Go, go, go, go,” he ordered, shouting to be heard as he pulled on his helmet and strapped on the face mask. “Get us moving as fast as you can, go!”

He was going to get the pilot a commendation, because she listened, shutting the glass enclosure and getting them off the ground in seconds. She was barely above the trees before she coaxed the jet into flight mode and they powered off, up into the sky.

Caleb’s brain dropped into the soles of his shoes, everything going dark for a moment. Maybe longer. He had no way of knowing.

All that mattered was the world came back, and the first part of it that did was Captain Haywood’s voice in the helmet speakers, comforting to his ears. “You have it? Agent Denecour, respond. Is the asset secure?”

Caleb’s head lolled and he breathed deep. “Yes, Captain. Mission success.” He patted the egg where it sat against his ribs, solid and perfect. “But we’ll have company soon.”

“Well, then,” the Captain replied, his voice like warm honey. “You best get back. We have to get ready to welcome our guests.”


	11. dead names of living men

Michael was going to kill Caleb Denecour. That absolute knowledge was important in the wake of Brio’s abduction, because it was all Michael had to hang onto.

He’d flown frantically over the Ramsey property, lightning hissing in his fingers, waiting for the first sign of the man as he made his escape. Michael had no idea how he’d been given the slip, only knew he had and the feeling in his gut was a thrashing rabid thing that longed to find the little thief and sink its teeth in him. In moments Austin went from a brisk clear day to dark and rumbling with thunder. He had searched, but it wasn’t until he’d watched some intricately engineered jet lift straight up off the ground just outside the property and fly away that he’d known where Denecour went. He tried to follow, pulling in a sharp wind to help push him along, but in moments the jet had become nothing but a blemish on the horizon. Acknowledging the jet was faster than him came with screams of anger as Michael had hurled bolts of lightning at the ground below him, unable to keep a hold of his outrage.

By the time he wrote it off as a lost cause, he was out of the state and had to loop back. The distance was a blessing; it took most of the trip back to the ranch house to get a grip on himself and see through the blood red drawn over his vision. He landed hard on the porch, heard the wood under his feet crack from the force. Inside the house, he called in a voice tight and rough from use, from screaming, “Gavin! Geoff!”

He heard an answer, distant and too far away to be resolved into words, but enough for Michael to follow. As he went, he walked through the living room, where it’d all gone wrong.

His eyes caught on the curve of the basket that had served as their bassinet, the knitting he’d padded it with sitting there, untucked and skewed from where Brio had been stolen. It halted him, the empty space glaring and _wrong_ after all the time he and Gavin spent working to fill it. If he couldn’t ignore gravity, he would have fallen right there, his knees weak and shaky.

There was, also, the metal briefcase with the EMP inside. It sat next to the cradle like an empty scorpion shell, bringing his rage back to a boil with a sharp pang of disgust. Michael’s lip curled into a snarl and he grabbed the case by its handle and swung it, letting it loose to hit the wall with an earsplitting bang before moving on.

Down into the basement, the design lab’s door was ajar. He went in, and found it dark inside with all the lights in the house still off. The rooftop tunnel was open, however, and it let in the dim light of the now-rainy day, just enough to navigate by.

Geoff was sitting on a stool, holding out his arm to Gavin. He was suited up most of the way, the glow of his chest the brightest light by far. In Gavin’s hands were the lock tools for the suit, and he was working to finish closing the suit manually. Michael couldn’t remember the last time he saw them do that. Years ago.

Gavin stopped, looked up at Michael. His eyes scanned him fast, searching… and his face fell. “Brio?”

One word, one name, and it was so broken and drenched in sorrow, that Michael crossed the room and stood close to him, placing a hand against his back. “I’ll get Brio back. I’ll bring them home. If I have to turn that fucking monstrosity of a skyscraper to rubble, I will find them.” There was no bravado to the claim. Michael knew he could do it, knew he _would_ do it. Hell, he had almost taken out BYTE Tower in his last throwdown with Narvaroth, and that had been entirely on accident. Flying to New York with mayhem and revenge on his mind was going to be an entirely different thing, and Michael was _starved_ for it.

The time for being calm and controlled was over.

Gavin, on the other hand, was not a man who was molded from anger and retribution like Michael had been when he was still Mogar. Gavin’s hands shook as he finished getting Geoff into the suit, so much he cursed quietly at the way the tools clacked against the armor. Geoff said nothing, but watched him, eyes nearly closed as he waited. He probably knew, like Michael did, that saying anything to Gavin as he struggled would have broken him. Gavin, though, set the tools down in his lap for a moment and twisted his fingers together tightly and held them close to his chest, breathing hard as his shoulder shuddered. “I just want them back,” he said just above a whisper, sounding pained. “J--just bring back Brio, and Griffon.”

“We will,” Geoff said. There was a rare steel in his tone. “But for fuck’s sake, we are going to do this right. We’re not going to have another clusterfuck like with the Extremis attacks.” He looked to Michael. “Sparky, you are going to take Gavin to Jack’s place. We’re not leaving him unprotected like the last time.” He touched Gavin’s shoulder with the hand that had already been encased in blue-green Ramsey alloy metal. “You are going to stay with Jack and keep your head down until we get back.”

There was a second where Gavin looked stung to be set aside, but it passed. He nodded. “Right. Focus on BYTE and not on me.” He finished with the suit and stood gingerly. He held his fist against his side, not directly over his scar but close by. “You can get a head start. Michael’s faster than you and will catch up. You need to get there quickly, get Brio before…” he hung his head, eyes shut, and breathed slowly.

“We’ll get your sprog back.” Geoff flipped the faceplate of his armor down. “See you en route, Michael.” He stepped away a safe distance before his thrusters came on and propelled him up into the air and away through the roof exit.

Michael’s fingers pressed softly into Gavin’s back. “Do you need anything?”

Gavin inhaled deeply, shaking his head. “No.” He patted his pocket. “I have my link to the suit. Let’s go, you need to get moving.”

He wanted to argue with that, but it was too much at the moment. Michael felt like every cord in his body was knotting tighter and tighter. It was reaching the point of real hurt, and Michael reached for all of his techniques, his yoga breathing and his visualizations and his exercises, but they felt grey and distant, just out of reach beyond the mass of panic and guilt that was winding around him. He stopped, rolling his neck and trying to bend his spine, unlocking his ribcage enough to _breathe_ again, but there was so much. Every inhale was a conscious effort.

He might have just lost it right there, the pressure becoming too much until it burst outward and shredded him. Might’ve been, but for the grounding force of his connection to Gavin. He could feel the tight, desperate panic that was lancing through Gavin like a physical pain. Michael met his eyes and they were wet, the pupils wide and dark.

Michael was careful as he lifted Gavin, tucking him across his arms. He carried the sum total of everything this planet had given him that he didn’t deserve, a man who loved him and who was shaking with terror, his fear only contained with the knowledge that Michael _would_ bring Brio back to him.

“I’ve got you,” Michael said into his ear. He nearly launched into the air like Geoff had, right through the roof exit, but the rain was really coming down and Gavin was shaking in his arms.

He detoured back upstairs, aiming for the coat closet by the door, where there would be plenty of raincoats and parkas because the Ramseys were always ready for rain these days.

As he walked through the living room, he felt Gavin’s head turn, craning to peer over Michael’s shoulder. Without looking, Michael knew he was looking at the basket. He tried to think of something to say, anything that would make the loss feel less like a knife in their chests, but nothing came to him. There wasn’t anything he could say.

They got Gavin into a parka regardless, and Michael clutched him tight as he took off out the door and into the rain, pointing himself towards Buda. He flew as fast as he dared with Gavin curling up against him. He expected Gavin to cling to him, like he usually did, for grip or for comfort, but Gavin just curled up tighter, compacting himself down more and more. He didn’t reach out, and when Michael looked down at him, he saw the pale, blank look on his face, uncaring to the way his loose hair twisted into his face. He held a fist against his scar and pressed his other hand against his collarbone, both empty in the wake of stolen things.

Suddenly and sharply, Michael missed the pendant around Gavin’s neck. It was a precursor. He’d let it be taken from Gavin, so how surprising was it that he’d let their egg be taken from them too? The only thing Michael could do was decide then and there that he’d get the Bifrost shard back too and occupy his mind with the grim fantasy of prying the pendant out of BYTE’s dead clutches and presenting it to Gavin as a solemn apology and promise to do better for their family.

When Michael touched down at the Pattillo house, Jack and Caiti were waiting for them on the front lawn. As Gavin slipped out of Michael’s arms, Jack stepped in, face lined deeply with concern. “Geoff called, told us what happened,” he said. “You were right about BYTE not being trustworthy, about Ryan.”

“I-- yeah, of course we were,” Michael said, taken aback. He bounced on his toes. It was good to hear, but, “I mean, glad to hear you’re with the program, but I have to go hammer a few things into the ground.”

Jack nodded. “Later. Right. We’ll watch him, it’ll be fine.”

Gavin hadn’t stop staring at Michael since he was set on the lawn. “Michael…” He bit hard into his lower lip.

Michael cupped Gavin’s elbows, pulling him in for a quick moment, bringing their heads together, trying to ignore how clammy Gavin’s skin felt. “I know. I’ll bring everyone back. You and me and Brio are going to get through this and we’re going to look for a good house and everything will be fine, okay?” He pressed his nose to Gavin’s. “Trust me, babe.”

Gavin kissed him, quick and swift. “Be careful, for fuck’s sake.”

It was hard letting go of him, but as Michael turned and walked away, there was a whistling in his head, like a valve to something high-pressure and overheated was coming loose. It got louder and louder, a cacophony that poured out of the lace where Michael always hid his anger and temper, filling his mind until all that remained was the _noise_.

His hammer soared into his hand and dragged him into the air, wind rushing past his ears as he let it carry him. He pointed himself like an arrow due northeast, taking a moment to reach out for the beacon and check where it was.

1,500 miles. Not a short flight, but as an incandescent rage filled Michael like potent fuel, he knew it wasn’t going to take too long.

He flew, trailing storm clouds and thunder across the eastern seaboard in his wake.

 

* * *

 

The gauntlets that Risinger handed to Ryan when they were complete and tested and deemed ready had the usual BYTE-made aesthetic: they were simultaneously blocky and rounded, gunmetal green bracers that sat fat around Ryan’s forearm and trailed wires from their welded points. They bloomed wide around his wrists, a ring dotted with LED lights that winked on and off steadily. The palm piece was almost an afterthought, a domed wafer fastened in place with a strange translucent surface. The left palm pad was concave; the right was a convex curve of glass, translucent enough that the artifact embedded in it was visible, the Bifrost shard gleaming where it was set. Otherwise the two were identical.

They made it a chore to so much as turn his hand without turning his entire arm, but Ryan could adjust. He’d had time and opportunity to get used to the way it worked.

Narvaroth stood at his side, watching as he moved, testing the device out. “You always want to start from the left and shift the power to your right. Inhale and pull,” he demonstrated for the hundredth time, breathing deep and holding up his left hand, slowly closing it. His shoulder shifted, like something intangible was moving along them, and he flicked up his right hand. “Exhale, and release.”

“If the simulations are right,” Risinger added, “you should be able to use them while connected to the mobile generator, but they will need a recharge after each shot.”

“How long?” Ryan asked, imitating Narvaroth’s motions until they started to come naturally.

“No way of knowing until we get the final part integrated,” he said with a shrug. “My guess is a few minutes though.”

Narvaroth’s teeth were very, very white as he smiled. “They don’t need to know that, though. I mean, Iron Man and Mogar are en route. Neither of them are smart enough to notice.”

“If they do, they will know they have a limited window in which we have no ability to fight back, though,” Ryan said. He looked aside to Narvaroth. The alien looked very unassuming in his civvies and glasses. He wore that disguise so well, Ryan had stopped being shocked by how many people bought it. It made him despair for the gullibility of BYTE’s personnel, but really that problem could wait for now. Narvaroth was not long for this world anyway. “Are you certain this will work? We’ve invited a lot of hurt on ourselves if it doesn’t.”

Narvaroth nodded. “The Bifrost is at the command of the royal family. It’s always been that way.”

“This is depending on your ability to meld our technology and your magic.”

“Magic _is_ technology, we’ve been over this.” He looked affronted to be questioned so. Ryan had always thought Narvaroth had an exceptionally delicate ego. “It will work. I did my part.”

“And you’ll get your end of the bargain,” Ryan said. “ _After_ the biggest threats are handled, mind.”

“That won’t take long,” Narvaroth noted.

“No, it won’t.” Risinger straightened from where he was fiddling with wires. The gauntlets were connected to the suitcase-sized generator next to them, and as Ryan watched, the LEDs on the gauntlets switched one by one from blue to green. It was slow process, but it was happening as promised. “I just got word,” he tapped his ear, where a radio earpiece sat, “that Agent Denecour’s landed on the flight pad.”

“Then our guests won’t be far behind. We don’t have a lot of time.” A smile creased his face, wide and pleased. It sang through his veins, the spike of adrenaline. It made his heart speed, his senses sharpening. It felt like war descending over him like it had a generation ago, when they put fire into Ryan’s body and set him loose like a human inferno on the battlefield. If he held a match it would light itself; he was _ready_ for this.

“Ramsey first?” Narvaroth asked.

“Send Caleb down to Dr. Ramsey’s containment cell,” Ryan commanded, agreeing with the idea. “We’ll start with her. Test run. Then get your people evacuated to safety, Risinger.”

Risinger blinked slowly. Ryan watched him, aware this could be a breaking point for the man. Denecour had warned him before about Risinger’s lingering loyalties to old world thinking.

Ryan flexed his fingers, testing the fit of the gauntlets as he held Risinger’s gaze.

“Yes, sir,” Risinger said, turning and walking quickly away.

Risinger was, at the end of the day, a smart man, a _family_ man. People like that were predictable.

“Let’s go see our guest off.” Ryan beckoned Narvaroth to follow and made his way through the Tower.

Down in its depths was a temporary containment level, meant as a holding area for the sort of terrors that would eventually be put into deep containment off-site, somewhere hidden and remote. Dr. Ramsey and the rest of the BYTE traitors were stewing down there, awaiting his judgement.

He was finally ready to hand down one sentence.

The timing was good. The glass cell that held Griffon Ramsey was showing some wear, as was the device on her torso. It was emitting plumes of steam every few seconds now, and the temperature of the room was reading as a fair bit higher than normal.

In another life, he would have been honored to fight with her or have her as an ally. There was something truly remarkable about a human weapon, Ryan knew from experience. It was a work of art from flesh and bone, and it was a tragedy to cast this one out. A necessary thing was rarely a pleasant one.

He walked up to the glass, hands held behind his back. “You’ll be free again soon,” Ryan told her.

Ramsey rolled her eyes extravagantly. “Oh my god, shut up. I don’t care about the justifications you’ve come up with for your psychotic bullshit. What do you want?”

“To tell you that I am genuinely sorry.” He lifted a gauntlet, checking the LEDs. Almost to full. “That if I thought there was another way, I’d take it. I know from the reports that you only took the Austinion-Extremis concoction to save your ward and I can think of no more noble reason. I want you to know that he’ll be safe.”

The strangest thing in the world was to see fear on Griffon Ramsey’s face. It looked unnatural there as it twisted her features. But it was there, plainly, and while it gave no joy to Ryan to see it, he felt at last the power that he wielded.

“Captain,” came Denecour’s voice, and Ryan turned to watch him approach. He was in his stealth suit, walking fast and silent across the floor. In his hand was the last piece of the puzzle. “We’re short on time. There’s a sudden storm front headed our way.”

“As we knew it would.” He held out his hand, and Denecour handed the sphere over with great care. It looked innocuous and rather small against Ryan’s hand. He could close his hand around it and his fingers nearly touched. It was warm, but not as warm as he’d expected given what he knew about it, the potential it contained.

He made certain to not look at Narvaroth, but he wasn’t stupid; he caught the way Narvaroth’s head swiveled smoothly to follow the egg’s path like a bloodhound on the scent as Ryan held the egg against his gauntlet, letting it set into the curved piece, clicking into place. He said nothing of it, just made a mental note that Narvaroth’s issues with his rival’s offspring hadn’t resolved themselves. He knew, at least, that if Narvaroth tried anything, he could still overpower him. Narvaroth was talented in many ways, but he was no brawler.

Ramsey stepped close to the glass, a hand over her mouth and horrified understanding filling her eyes as she looked. “You stole it. Gavin had it and _you fucking took it from him_.” She let out a pained cry, wheeling her arm back and slamming her fist into the glass. Hairline cracks appeared all along the solid pane, spreading further and further. The carapace whistled and bellowed steam, enough it dampened her hair, plastering it to her forehead.

Denecour sprang back, putting some distance between himself and Ramsey, looking alarmed. “Captain--”

“Open the cell,” Ryan said, squaring his shoulders and looking her in the eyes. They were honey and fire, and Ryan had no doubt that in a fair fight she would reduce him to a smear on the tile.

Fair fights had little place in his world, though. He gathered himself as Denecour went to the panel on the wall next to the cell and started to open it. He had only once chance to do this or she would kill him.

There was movement behind him and a light hand on his hip. “Inhale with the left, exhale and release with the right.”

The glass wall, really two different planes with cooled gas between them, began to slide away into the frames. Ramsey’s body was tense and ready. Ryan shifted his feet further apart and waited for his opening, willing himself to not fumble it all away now.

The cell opened.

Ramsey launched herself at him, aiming low.

Ryan held out his hand and took a long step back, forcing her to take another herself. He inhaled. Exhaled. Released.

He had, perhaps foolishly, expected something extravagant. A beam of light, a rushing sound, something pouring forth from the Bifrost shard. It didn’t work like that, because the Bifrost was not in his hand, he realized. It was light, though. A brilliant, dazzling glow that enveloped Ramsey midstep. Ryan had the time to marvel at the colors and how they shifted and blended together before it was gone.

 _She_ was gone.

It worked.

Ryan looked down at one of the gauntlets. The LEDs had reset, the power gone. The egg and the shard were both intact and seemed fine.

The power was there and it listened to his command and with it he could change the world, could _fix_ it.

The three of them were silent, a shared understanding that they’d just witnessed something remarkable thick in the air between them. There was nothing left of Griffon Ramsey, none of her presence or fire remained but for the crushing heat of the cell.

Ryan knew with unshakeable conviction that they were in a better place, where they belonged.

“Captain,” Denecour said, softly like he was reluctant to interrupt. “Mogar is apparently on the approach. Iron Man is close behind.”

Ryan nodded. “Begin the evacuation. Get everyone clear. Narvaroth,” he didn’t bother with the name Narvaroth wore as an imperfect mask; it wouldn’t matter for much longer. From the corner of his eye, he could see the way Caleb smirked to himself. “Keep us out of sight. Lets get into position.”

 _One down_ , Ryan thought to himself. _Three to go_.

 

* * *

 

Michael did not know it until he was surrounded by pebbled glass and bullet casings and the sound of Geoff’s repulsors tearing through metal, but fucking up BYTE Tower was all he’d ever wanted.

When he arrived in the vicinity at last, he’d flown straight through the Tower, hitting it like a supersonic wrecking ball and letting the impact of his hammer breaking through every wall. It’d been fucking _satisfying_ , and a good way to throttle down.

As he’d hovered in the air outside the Tower, he heard helicopters. BYTE and their fucking omnipresent helicopters.

It’d been a treat to take them out one by one. He’d cleaved right through the propellers of each before setting them down on the street below, the agents inside safe but grounded. One had boldly leaned out and fired a rifle at Michael, who had spread his arms, letting him, receiving a baffled look as each bullet fell harmlessly.

By the time he’d taken the helicopters out of the equation, Geoff caught up. “Nice of you to make a door!” he called to Michael, voice tinny, as he climbed into the tower through the hole Michael had left in one side of it.

When he had been growing up, his guardians had sung many epics to his clutch, and Michael remembered them all with an amaranth’s perfect recall for music. The ones he’d enjoyed the most were tales of old amaranths from before the Bifrost was extended to the realms, when the children of the royal family, the ones who didn’t intend to succeed the throne, took to travel across the stars, back when the worlds were wild. They explored with sword or focus or javelin in hand, before the alternatives were possible. It was a harsher, barbaric time, the guardians told him, but he’d loved the stories, the feeling of triumphant conquest they inspired in him.

He felt that again now. BYTE Tower was a monolith full of secrets, and Michael was going to tear it open to see them all. It was retribution for taking Brio, for taking Griffon, for every hindrance they visited onto Earth, for that giant fuck off needle and for whatever the Vav project truly was, for being a hideous blight on the Manhattan skyline.

The worry and fear and fury washed away as Michael flung himself around like a pinball, searching further down into the facility for Griffon. He punched holes through the floors large enough for Geoff to follow through, knocked down entire walls in search of wherever BYTE kept its prisoners.

Once, centuries ago, one of the trainers told him quickly that rage was his affinity, more than lightning or wind or rain. If he could tap into it, he would be unstoppable.

He had, and became Mogar. There was no doubt in his mind that Mogar’s affinity was rage, it was clear from his history and his downfall both.

But now, as Michael, he felt like it was this: this swelling feeling in his chest as he brought some fucking retribution onto BYTE’s doormat. He broke every window and smashed everything in his path, but let the agents scurry away, retreating in droves as they realized their firearms were useless against him. He laughed at them, stalked closer to hasten their escapes, reckless and beyond caring, drunk off the power he finally let flow through him, filling him to the brim.

It was tempered when he and Geoff found the containment level. The cells were all empty, but one stood out; the glass facing of it was severely cracked, a mark left by someone with a lot of fucking power behind them.

But no one was inside. No one was in any of them.

“Looks like we’re going to have to ask Haywood a few questions,” Geoff said coldly.

There was something unsettling about Geoff then, especially given how his face was hidden by armor. The projection of his voice was imperfect and oddly flat, hard to get a read on, but Michael didn’t like the set of his shoulders, the way his fists opened and closed in a steady rhythm.

Michael thought about that, holding up a hand to still Geoff. He could make this easier. “Hang on.” Once again, he called out, feeling for the beacon, letting it echo back to him. It was close. Even as BYTE Tower cleared out, it was still nearby, over their heads. Michael pointed upward. “He’s on an upper level, I bet.”

“Let’s go say hi,” Geoff said.

The singing feeling in his chest, like hot metal ringing with each strike of a hammer, stuck with Michael as he flew higher. It only faded when he realized where the beacon was calling them to.

Gavin’s old lab. Michael clenched his jaw.

Nothing good came out of that fucking lab and he didn’t think that was about to change.

 

* * *

 

BYTE Tower under assault was a strange thing. The quiet of the building, the stillness of it as it stood amid the Manhattan skyline, was missing. It started with the floor seeming to shiver under Ryan’s feet, like the tamed planes of tile were stirring. Then came the clanging; Mogar was not a subtle person, and the sound of his approach was clear and grew louder and louder.

“Are we just going to let them wreck the place?” Denecour wasn’t taking it well. Sentiment for the facility, most likely.

“Yes,” Ryan said. “They have to come to us. We can rebuild.”

“Yeah, but…” He twisted his head to the side, shaking loose the complaint until he went still again. “Do they have to smash up every floor on their way here?”

“Mogar for you,” Narvaroth murmured. “We gave him that hammer for a reason.”

“And Mr. Ramsey has probably been waiting for this opportunity for years.” The sounds were closer, and the tell-tale whine of the Iron Man suit’s repulsors were louder and louder. Ryan looked aside at Narvaroth, who nodded. His shield slid easily from his back, slid over his arm and held protectively against his side.

Silence fell suddenly, and for a moment Ryan thought he’d gone temporarily deaf. There was nothing, no sign of his incoming opponents, and the change was entirely unsettling.

The moment of eerie quiet did not last long. The windowed walls of the room (formerly Ramsey-Free’s lab, then Narvaroth’s room, now simply a stage) burst inward in unison, Mogar and Iron Man breaking through their own sides and landing, electricity crackling dangerously and repulsors up and ready, respectively.

“Michael?” Iron Man’s mechanical voice called.

“They’re here,” Mogar replied, straightening out of his low crouch, fist clenching around the handle of his hammer, the leather grip creaking under the force. “Either fucking show yourself or I’ll fill this room with so much lightning you’ll be fried before you hit the ground.”

Ryan caught Narvaroth’s eye and nodded. Narvaroth waved a hand, and Ryan felt the illusion melt away, the cool frosted feeling that had taken over his skin dropping.

Iron Man didn’t wait. He fired a beam right at Ryan, who was ready for such a reckless move. Ryan caught it with his shield, the vibranium singing as it reflected the blinding light. He tipped it away, letting it glance off and redirect.

Mogar swore and dove out of the way. “Geoff, fuck!”

That got Iron Man to put the beams away, and gave Ryan an opportunity to speak. “Can we talk now? Or would you like to try again?” He turned his arm, showing the sphere nestled against his palm. “I might not be so swift deflect next time though.”

“What is that?” Mogar asked, voice jumping an octave. “What is that, what are you doing with Brio?”

Ramsey appeared as the faceplate of his suit flipped up. He stood tall with his arms braced and ready, palms shifting between Denecour, Narvaroth, and Ryan as he covered each of them as targets. “Where the hell is my wife?”

“Oestret Roethe, by now.” Ryan said.

Ramsey’s aim faltered, just for a second, as his head whipped to the side to look at Mogar. Across the room, Mogar was still, his eyes steady on Ryan. For a face so often expressive and clear, every emotion writ on his face, now he was unreadable even to Ryan’s keen eyes. Tone dull, he said, “That’s not possible.”

Narvaroth snorted loudly. “Yeah, it is, if you know what you’re doing.”

Mogar bristled, attention moving to his fellow. “You can’t fucking access the Bifrost from a remote location without a gateway.”

“You _can_ ,” Narvaroth challenged. “The gateway is just a conduit of the bridge. What is needed is a seed of the bridge, a means to control it, and,” he clicked his fingers, pointing to Mogar, “the blood of the royal family. With a way to call it, you can do it from anywhere. The Bifrost is everywhere.”

“Without a gateway, the Bifrost is too fucking powerful, its focus scatters matter and destroys everything!” Mogar replied. “I was the goddamn bridge guardian!”

“And I was one of the best mages the Amaranthine Citadel had ever seen and I didn’t sleep through my damn lessons, _Mogar_.” The argument was quickly spiraling into something personal and juvenile, the two aliens seeming to forget anyone else was in the room. “We’re not opening a full connection, we’re just using the Bifrost to move things on small scale. That’s all we need.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ramsey snapped. “Explain. Where is she?”

This was, in a way, the moment Ryan had been waiting for. His vision was a long-kept secret, shared to only a handful of people who he’d needed to bring it to fruition. Now, facing down two of the people that were on his list, he could tell them. It would be unconsciously cruel, after all, to send them away without them knowing the _why_ behind it all. Even in the name of a brighter future, Ryan had his limits.

“I know I have wronged you. I captured your wife,” he said to Ramsey, then turned to Mogar. “I have your offspring’s life literally in my hand. But with my back to the wall, you’ve left me with few choices.

“There are monsters worse than I in this world, crawling from the depths of the Marianas Trench and falling from faraway worlds. They’re home-grown, people who come into some sort of inhuman power and decide to use it.” He bowed his head with respect. “Some good people, no doubt. But not all of them. And even those with good intentions, they are uncontrollable. We even tried to bring the greatest of them together,” he smiled ruefully, “and were rebuffed at every turn. The Hunters Initiative was stillborn, and a mockery of the organization thanks in no small part to you two. Mogar, you evaded both our closed fist and open hand. Ramsey, your support was so conditional it hamstringed us.”

“The Iron Man project was never going to be put in BYTE’s hands,” Ramsey said darkly. “You fuckers couldn’t be trusted with it.”

“No, no, but you could, of course.” Ryan smiled. “The Ramsey family, visiting awesome power on themselves and on their friends with no regard for the bigger picture.”

“On our--”

“How long was Major Gruchy out of commission after Gavin decided to make him into a hero?”

Ramsey’s whole body moved with his eyeroll, and the articulation of his suit and how it moved with him was impressive. “Oh, _fuck you_. That wasn’t a normal circumstance.”

To Mogar, he said, “And what were the circumstances when you brought the full force of your power down on this tiny island, Mogar? When I physically held your lover back from your wrath until he could snap you out of it?” Ryan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “And every time we made any headway with you, you left us again, often with your messes. You have no oversight. None of you do. The majority of this world cannot comprehend lives like yours, the way the power you possess changes you. You’re like a different creature altogether.”

“Hypocrite.”

Ryan turned to Mogar, eyebrows lifted. “Come again?”

“Hypocrite, I said.” He held out his hammer like an extension of his arm and waved it. “If you’re going to say anyone with access to extraordinary powers isn’t human, then you should look in the mirror, Captain America.”

“Of course.” He spread his arms wide, displaying his armor with its vibrant colors and stars. “I was made to protect the American people from people like you. It’s my duty, to keep them safe from the collateral of your petty grudges and bullshit family dramatics. I’m not of them, but I am _for_ them in a way you never have been.”

“And then turn your little toy on yourself?” Ramsey asked with what Ryan thought was a really undue amount of sarcasm. “Come hang out with the rest of the freaks?”

“Do you mean will I join the people of Oestret Roethe as one of them? Walk through a world where I am one of a great collective? See again what it is like to feel a part of the world instead of apart from it?” He shook his head, somber and full of regret. “I cannot take that trip with them. No. Someone has to make sure this situation never happens again, that the next set of you are handled so humanity can grow without those threats.” He narrowed his eyes at Mogar and Iron Man in turn. “No gods, no monsters.”

“Narvaroth, you fuck,” Mogar muttered, tense and angry, taking a half-step forward. When Ryan aimed the gauntlet at him, he immediately backed down, looking worried. It didn’t stop his mouth, though. “You’re helping this guy and you _know_ what exile is like.”

“Yes, I _do_ ,” Narvaroth said sharply, lashing back with force. “I know what it’s like to be stranded and alone and _abandoned_!”

Ryan reached over and put a hand on Narvaroth’s shoulder, trying to radiate calm and share it with the alien. Now wasn’t the time for outbursts, however justified they might be. “People like you and Narvaroth don’t belong here. Narvaroth understands that and will be going home once the situation on Earth is more manageable. That was his bargain.”

“You-- okay, you cannot actually believe--” Mogar stuttered, his words crashing into each other. He stopped, rubbing his face roughly. “Narvaroth leading you around by the nose aside, you can’t just take the people you don’t want and dump them on another world to be rid of them!”

Denecour had been silent for a long time, but he was nothing if not a man fond of the precision strike. When he saw the opportunity, he took it: “Like your people did you? Throwing two superpowered aliens into our world like we’re your trash dump?”

Mogar took a step back, like the words were a physical blow against him. “That’s…”

“We’re just returning to sender,” Ryan told him kindly. “Your species is so grand and advanced compared to humanity. We are just taking our lessons from them. Turnabout,” he aimed his smile right at Mogar’s bewildered, shocked face, “is fair play.”

Mogar’s expression went through some sort of transformation, from anger to surprise and into this: a tense, pained sorrow that creased every line deeply and left him looking less like an immortal storm god and more like a lost boy. “You believe all of this,” he said softly. “You are _holding my child_ and you honestly believe all of this bullshit?” He dragged a hand into his curls. “You unleashed Narvaroth, you tried to take Gavin, you sent _this_ snake into our home and stole our child, and you banished an innocent human to the other side of the universe!”

“She’ll be joined by others,” Ryan intoned gravely.

Ramsey spoke then with a voice like the metal he wore, “No, she won’t.” His hands lifted, light in his palms going bright.

Ryan felt Denecour move at his side, stepping in to put himself between Ryan and the suit. He swept the boy aside and lifted his own hand, without time to check if it was recharged and ready to go. He aimed, inhaled, released.

The light descended on Ramsey, and this time Ryan was ready for it, watched as it swarmed around the man and pulled him sideways into nothingness. There was a tug and he was just gone.

The room stared at the point where Ramsey had been and now wasn’t. Ryan wondered if it was instantaneous, if he was already with his wife on Oestret Roethe. He hoped they were given a fair welcome. A mind like Griffon Ramsey’s would transcend species, he thought, and she would take care of her husband, no doubt.

Mogar was gaping at the place Ramsey vanished from, soundless and distraught, face pale enough to make his freckles look particularly dark against his skin. His hands were shaking, and Narvaroth was watching keenly. Ryan could understand that, the laser-focused gaze. It must’ve been vindictively pleasant to see your rival in such a state.

What Ryan didn’t anticipate or understand was Denecour’s reaction.

 

* * *

 

Geoff was gone.

Michael couldn’t move his brain past that point. He was trying, but making what he’d just seen resolve into something that made sense was impossible.

Geoff, who had been one of the first people to reach out to him, who watched the way he commanded a storm and dubbed him ‘Sparky’, who invited him to dinner and into his home again and again until the invitation wasn’t needed, he was gone, sentenced to the same fate Michael had been, flung across the stars to an alien world.

He wondered if Gavin heard it over the suit’s transmitter. He wondered what Gavin thought, if he was in the same state of mute shock or if he was confused or if he was screaming.

“What’ve you done?” Agent Denecour asked in an appalled tone, breaking the silence.

It was a slow process, turning to look at something other than where Geoff should’ve been, but Michael managed. He saw the way Denecour was staring at Haywood in disgust.

“He attacked first, Caleb,” Haywood said sternly, like he was chiding an errant child. “You saw it.”

“I saw it. I saw you send a defenseless man to a place he doesn’t belong!” He wasn’t quiet now, going from that sort of still fury to something loud in a second. “Ramsey wasn’t on the list of people to send! We _discussed_ why he couldn’t be sent there!”

“Geoff Ramsey was a threat to the entire operation and would not see reason,” Haywood countered. “You know that.”

“So you sent him to an alien world he can’t survive in?!” Denecour stepped back, gripping his hair with both hands and pulling. “Geoff Ramsey is not the suit, without it he’s just a human, just one of the people you said we were here to protect!”

“He has the suit.”

“The miniature arc reactor isn’t an infinite power supply!” He was yelling now, his voice bouncing back to them in the cavernous room. He dropped his hands, clenching them into fists at his side, and met Haywood’s eyes in challenge. For a second, Michael dared to hope that this would be it, that someone who was on Haywood’s side could put a stop to his mad bullshit scheme. “Once it runs out, he’s just a man, and you just threw him to the wolves! Who’s next, did you want to cast out Agent Tuggey, or Miles? Is Commander Sorola being added to the list?!”

“He’s not your commander anymore, I am, Agent Denecour,” Haywood growled. His entire posture changed, shoulders squared like a brick wall as he turned to his agent. As Michael watched, he could see the way Haywood’s eyes flicked to his wrists. He was checking something about the gauntlets, maybe. That was significant, though Michael wasn’t sure how yet. Geoff would’ve known. Fuck, _Geoff. Griffon_. “Your insubordination isn’t appreciated.”

“No, but it was when I led my entire team into your clutches, wasn’t it?” He sneered, face ugly as his lips curled. “Was that the plan the whole time? To get rid of them? We built this project to let humanity make its own choices without overpowered spectres hanging over it, Captain, and what are you _doing_?”

“You’re pretty idealistic for a spy,” Narvaroth added suddenly, looking unperturbed by Denecour’s outburst.

“And you’re not half the liar you think you are,” Denecour fired back, eyes still on Haywood. “Sir, listen to me, this is not what we fought for. This is not your legacy, the legacy of Captain America.”

That seemed to hit Haywood. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, thinking. He didn’t reply quickly, and the effect on both Denecour and Narvaroth was palpable; as Denecour’s expression relaxed into something hopeful, Narvaroth’s body tensed, fingers twitching in and out of claws. Seeing the two hanging entirely upon Haywood’s decision was disconcerting, and Michael realized he was doing the same, waiting, pleading with the Captain silently to come around.

Instead, Haywood said, “I’m sorry, Caleb,” and spirited him away on the Bifrost, the agent vanishing into clouded light and particles, fired away across the universe with Griffon and Geoff.

Suddenly, Michael was alone with Narvaroth and Haywood. His heart sank into his knees. His body did the same, slumping down until he was knelt on the floor, arms heavy at his side.

“Could you make sure the likes of Caleb and Ramsey are taken care of?” Haywood asked.

“‘Course,” Narvaroth said.

When he looked up, Haywood had the gauntlet trained on his head. In the palm, Michael could see the sliver of Bifrost that he’d put on a chain and worn around his neck as a reminder of his failures, that he’d put around Gavin’s to remind him to be _better_.

It was suddenly hard to see, his eyes swimming. “Please,” he croaked. “I will put down my hammer, I will keep my feet on the ground. Let me have Brio, let me go back to Gavin, _please_.”

Haywood said nothing, but even through his tears Michael could tell the man shook his head.

He had to try again. His mind was cast about, panicked and drowning in a deep water of sorrow that filled his lungs and choked him. He’d lost Gavin’s family, hadn’t stopped them from being stolen away like so much else in Gavin’s life. He couldn’t bring them back, but he could, maybe, “Let me take Gavin with us, please. You _can’t_ leave him alone, it’ll destroy him.” He reached up and rubbed his face, swiping away the dampness there so he could look Haywood in the eyes. “At least send Gavin to be with his family, you’ve already taken everything else from him, from _us_.” And his eyes shifted, caught on the glowing curve of pale rainbow tucked into Haywood’s other hand.

Again, Haywood shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Michael fucking _hated him_ for sounding so genuine. “He belongs here. He’s not like you.”

“Neither was Geoff! Or Denecour!”

“Gifted individuals who could have destroyed our plan,” Haywood said, voice heavy and oddly respectful. There was no joy of conquest in his words. “And as much as it pains me to say it, with both you and Narvaroth sent home, Gavin will be important to us. We will need him. He won’t be alone.”

Michael laughed weakly and without humor. “You make it sound so noble.”

“I’m not going to be lectured on my duty to my people by _you_ , Prince Mogar,” Haywood said, and Michael could not argue with that.

He lowered his head, his chin resting on his chest like an executioner’s block. He’d failed. He’d not only failed himself, but the family that had took him in, that loved him, that helped build him into Michael Jones. He wasn’t going to see Gavin again. He should’ve said he loved him before he’d left. Or, really, anything other than the promise that they would be together, that they would be a family, and that everything would be okay.

Years ago, Gavin had quieted his fears and just told him to be better.

_Fuck. Gavin, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry--_

“Don’t send me to Oestret Roethe,” Michael found himself saying. His voice was dull, devoid of hope. When he looked to Captain America again, there wasn’t any defiance left, beat out of him not by force as much as despair. “Send me away, but not to Oestret Roethe.”

To his surprise, Haywood arched an eyebrow at that, looking intrigued. “Go on.”

“I betrayed my people, my purpose,” Michael said quietly. “I was given a sacred task in service of my people and I not only didn’t do it, I almost destroyed what I was sworn to protect. I was banished for that crime, and I--” He shut his eyes, taking a breath before going on. “I have no right to return to the Amaranthine Citadel. I should die without laying eyes on it again.” It was hard to speak. His mind was filled with the sole image of Gavin’s seaglass eyes, like he could burn them into himself like a brand. It felt wrong to be-- unchanged by that pale green-blue. Otherwise, in a hundred years, how would he remember that exact color? “Send me away, but not to Oestret Roethe. You are a man who talks about legacy and duty.” He was pleading, he knew, but he also knew Haywood was listening. “Give me this. Don’t make me a traitor twice over.”

As fucking twisted as it was, Michael thought that if anyone on this planet would understand, it was Ryan Haywood.

One minute stretched into two and Michael’s strength failed. He couldn’t meet Haywood’s gaze any longer and let his head hang. “Do it or don’t, just get it over with.”

It was not so quick. He had no idea how long he knelt there, awaiting judgement, but eventually he heard Haywood ask, “Can you do it? Send him elsewhere?”

“I can,” Narvaroth replied with calm confidence. Then: “Give it here.”

Michael was not fast enough. The weight of it all pushing him down made him slow, but he did manage to lift his head again as comprehension dawned and say, “Wait. Wait, don’t--”

He saw Haywood hand the gauntlets over to Narvaroth, who nodded solemnly and pulled them on. Then, without a word or a single mark of intent crossing his face, Narvaroth held out his hand and unleashed the power of the Bifrost, banishing Ryan.

“Thank the fucking stars and pillars, I thought he’d never shut up,” Narvaroth said with a loud sigh. “But I think that went pretty well, don’t you, Michael?”

“What did you just do,” Michael said with awful wonder. “Narvaroth, _what did you just do_?”

It was like an illusion being broken. The staid, mostly-silent partner who stood at Captain America’s side gave way to someone familiar; Narvaroth shrugged expansively, arching his back like a cat, and let his hands swing loose and confident. “No, no,” he said when Michael shifted. “Don’t get up. Kneeling is a good look for you.”

“Narvaroth--”

“Come on, you have to be a _little_ impressed, right?” He started pacing in front of Michael as he spoke, posture shifting, anxious and excited. “I mean, I convinced a really above average human to bust me out of the hole they had me in. I figured out a way to get access to the power of the Bifrost-- thanks for hitting your nesting period at the perfect time, by the way. I made everyone in this fucking place think I was _homesick_ so they didn’t stop to figure out what was really happening.” He held his arms out wide, might’ve bowed if it didn’t mean showing Michael his back. “ _And_ I removed every obstacle in my way. That’s impressive!”

Michael glowered at him, tracking the movement of the gauntlets out of the corner of his eye. As soon as he got the window, he could leap. He’d always win against his clutchmate in a battle of brawn. “And for what? Are we doing this again? Going to convince me that letting go of my rage was bad and I should join up with you?”

“Please,” Narvaroth waved a hand dismissively. “I think the humans say something like, that was so four years ago. No, I’ve grown up. I know that…” He stilled, hand dropping. For the first time, he really _looked_ at Michael, and the gleaming madness and grief in his green eyes was plain to see. It hurt to even look directly at. “Mogar is gone. I guess I should apologize for not honoring your new name before, but I had hoped…” He shook his head, sighing again. “But no. You’re Michael Jones now, I get it.”

Michael couldn’t tell if he was relieved or worried to not be Narvaroth’s goal this time. “Then what do you want?”

The smile that unfurled over Narvaroth’s face was enough to chill Michael’s blood. “You almost spoiled it before. I almost took a swing at you. If Ryan wasn’t so hard over his own self-righteousness, he might’ve figured it out.” Narvaroth held up the shard-embedded gauntlet and chuckled at the way Michael flinched away from it. “They say the Amaranthine Citadel was built so strong, it has not seen a single crack in its shell since the day it was built, you know. What do you think, Michael? The full force of the Bifrost aimed right at those lofty spires?”

 _No. What? No._ The implication didn’t really sink in, and Michael frowned in confusion.

“Holy shit, Earth has made you soft,” Narvaroth despaired. Then, he stood tall, to his full height with a straight spine and a dagger-sharp gaze. “I am going to wield the power of the Bifrost and I’m going to aim it at Oestret Roethe, and I am going to tear apart the empire of the Burning King and scatter it to the stars,” he explained, fast and hot. “I’m going to dismantle the world that wronged me when I was only trying to protect them, and I’m going to build a new Amaranthine empire here and branch out across space. A new kingdom, a new bridge network, a new order to the universe.”

Their home, its red-gold skies, the Citadel, the people who lived there, the gardens, the orchards, the forges and grand halls. Michael’s family. And all the innocent humans cast out by Narvaroth’s manipulations. “You can’t,” Michael said. “You-- you can’t, Narvaroth, stop for a second!” He held up his hands. “We grew up there, it’s our home, our people. There are so many connected to Oestret Roethe, depending on it. You’ll kill them all!” When Narvaroth stared down at him, face cold and as distant as the stars themselves, Michael broke. “Nocthem, _please_. This is _insane_.”

That got a reaction, a small one; Narvaroth blinked and swayed back on his feet. “Nocthem…” He breathed out the old name, two syllables filled to the brim with nostalgia and wonder. “No, he wouldn’t do this, would he?” He bowed his head a moment, smiling. “But I’m not that person.” He met Michael’s eyes. “Just as you are not my Kapelle. You’re not my Prince Mogar. No,” he picked up speed, volume, flexing his fingers and staring hard at Michael. “Soon I will be one of the only amaranths left in the universe and the only one that matters, _Michael_.”

He lifted his hand, palm out to Michael, who started to get to his feet, shaking. There was a toxic mixture of anger and and sorrow, a poisonous emotion Michael knew well himself. He’d carried it for the first year on Earth as he fought to adjust and move past it. Clearly, Narvaroth never reached the moving past it point.

There was a terrible strength in still carrying it all, Michael thought.

As Narvaroth spoke, the layer of Allspeak was stripped away and for the first time since he landed on Earth after being cast out by his father, Michael heard the language of the Amaranthine. “You are Michael of Earth, and I proclaim you the murderer of Prince Mogar of the Amaranthine Royal Family,” Narvaroth announced, voice echoing grandly throughout the room like it was a royal court. “For such a crime, I will grant you one mercy. I will give you one last visit to the golden shores of Oestret Roethe, where you will die.”

His fingers spread open and the light in his palm suddenly was the only thing Michael could see, wrapping around him before he could react. “Goodbye, old friend.”

And for the second time, Michael was cast out to hurtle across the stars.


	12. the art of holding a grudge, part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains triggery material, please consult the CW list in chapter one if necessary.

It was only in the wake of Michael’s presence, when he was gone, sent back by Narvaroth’s own hand to their homeland, to Oestret Roethe, that Narvaroth realized it was the first time he’d ever lived in a world without his clutchmate.

Kapelle had been born first by a few days, and they’d lived in each others’ pockets growing up. They’d been inseparable in their clutch days. They’d taken their lessons together, taken their second names together, worked side by side. They’d been banished together, too. There had been about six months when Narvaroth didn’t know where Mogar was, right after he’d landed on Earth, but in the grand timeline of their lives, they had been intertwined from the start.

Until now.

Narvaroth wondered if, across the universe where Michael was arriving in the main gate house of the Bifrost, the tattoo on Michael’s right arm had taken on a sudden change, if the shift in his life was writ in ancient Amaranthine already. Narvaroth wondered if any of his names were laid into one or both of Michael’s arms and what deeds might’ve been inscribed with them.

It wasn’t going to matter for much longer and besides, he had a bigger piece of Michael’s legacy now.

Narvaroth was careful as he nudged the egg out of the mount in his gauntlet. It rolled across his palm, smooth and brimming with power and light. He’d seen a few eggs over the years, always in passing, but never one like this. The royal blood was obvious in the flowing colors, the sheen, the resemblance to the bridge they were sworn to. If he stared long enough at it, he could probably hazard a few guesses about whomever it was brewing inside.

That could wait. His plan was in motion-- really, had been in motion since the first time Captain Ryan Haywood had come down into deep containment to ask after him-- and he had to act before the people of Oestret Roethe caught wise. Though he was hard-pressed to imagine what they could do to fucking _stop him_. Such an insular people they were, clustered in their citadel, never venturing out and only drawing others in. Narvaroth could see with eyes made objective with his banishment that this was always going to be their downfall and he would do it differently. He’d scatter his empire over the stars like a net.

Fuck, he had _such_ _plans_. After Michael abandoned him and let BYTE bury him, there hadn’t been much else to do but plan.

Narvaroth settled the egg-- Brio, wasn’t it? Good name, Michael must’ve insisted-- back into his glove. He had the weapon. He had the means to control it. Now, he just needed the power.

Primitive as it was, Earth’s power capabilities were severely limited. What Narvaroth needed was one big surge of power, enough to open a proper bridge to Oestret Roethe until the Bifrost’s energy tore the planet apart. Only one piece of human technology was up to the task.

That meant he needed Gavin. The smile that spread over his face was familiar and cold. This was the part of the plan he didn’t worry about. Gavin was a remarkable human, but he was easy. Separated from his family, he could barely stand on his own. Narvaroth had used that before and almost destroyed him. Now there wasn’t going to be anyone to get in the way and screw it up again.

He would have Michael’s child in one palm and his lover in the other. In a few months, Narvaroth had gone from sitting in a hole in the Earth to conqueror. It was a little disappointing that he’d removed almost everyone who could understand the extent of his triumph, but he’d get over it.

Narvaroth flew away from the standing wreck that was BYTE Tower and pointed himself southwest, to Austin, to the arc reactor, and to Gavin Ramsey-Free.

 

* * *

 

Gavin had been sitting in the living room of the Pattillo household with one of Jack’s laptops on his knees. A special jump drive plugged into the side had given him everything he needed to monitor Geoff and the suit. He couldn’t take control of anything or make any changes, only observe. It might’ve been a bad idea, to let himself spectate without any kind of input, but he needed to know. He couldn’t sit in the dark and wait for good news or just _news_.

So he had listened. He’d watched with a vindictive sense of satisfaction as Michael and Geoff blasted through BYTE Tower without regard for the place. He’d been disturbed by the rows of empty cells, particularly the one that obviously had been for Griffon. The idea that BYTE had already moved her off-site terrified him; it was a big world and BYTE had its claws dug into it all across the map. Finding her again would be hard and, god, but he missed her terribly. He just wanted them to find her and bring her back home with Brio.

There was a time, months ago, when Gavin’s vision of the future had been all about stepping back into the limelight. He’d dream up another brilliant design, a worthy successor to the Iron Man suit, and would prove himself as the heir to the Ramseys. Now, the ambition faded into simple, basic wants for safety and home and the return of his family. It ate at him.

Then, he’d watched the feeds as Michael and Geoff found Ryan. He’d listened, unable to speak through his tense fear, as Captain America laid out his ideals and his vision for the future. Throwing away everyone Gavin was close to and more like they were trash. Over the top of the monitor, Gavin had looked at Jack, who was talking quietly to Heyman, oblivious to the confrontation Gavin was privy to. Gavin thought about years ago when Gavin suited up in the Vav suit and tried to play hero, how Jack had saved him.

Gavin had felt like his life was a long string of remarkable people going out of their way to keep him alive. How anyone could look down on that or see it as a bad thing baffled him. Ryan was _wrong_.

But that hadn’t stopped him from spiriting Geoff away. One moment, Ryan was soliloquizing about his perfect future without any supers ( _except himself, of course_ , Gavin had thought bitterly) and the next, Geoff was gone.

It wasn’t even on the feeds. There had been no spikes or dips in the levels, no alarms, nothing. The feeds had just _stopped_ , with such a sudden end that Gavin was initially confused. He had tried to reconnect, changed the VPN he was using, even restarted the program. Nothing. It was functioning fine; there was just nothing to connect to.

Gavin sat there numbly, looking at the screen, clicking the reconnect a few times in case it was-- a fluke. The program was an old one, made on commission by JJ at Griffon’s request back in the days of alpha testing. It had been a sturdy little interface though and had never failed Gavin before.

Jack caught onto his distress immediately. “Gavin?”

“I don’t…” Gavin’s mouth was very dry. He restarted the program _again_ , in case… in case it brought Geoff back. “The feed’s… gone.”

Caiti moved to stand over his shoulder. “What does that mean? Do you need another connection? I have my line for my work you can use.”

Gavin didn’t look at her. He didn’t think he could bear it; she had such a kind face, was always so sweet to him every time he showed up for his appointments, and seeing the lack of comprehension there and having to _explain_ it… Instead, he looked at Jack, already feeling the wave of terrified nausea that was coming at him like the ocean at high tide.

 _Geoff’s gone_ , he thought, testing the idea. It didn’t really make sense, so his mind tried again to make the connection. _Geoff’s been banished to another planet, like Griffon was. They’re gone._

Jack was watching him, and a hard look came over his face. “Gavin, what happened?” Gavin shook his head. “Gav.”

“Don’t _ask me_!” Gavin snapped, slamming the lid of the laptop shut because the way Caiti was peering at it was driving him mad, and he was going to scream. “I don’t know, they-- they found Ryan and Narvaroth, and Geoff’s feed’s gone and I don’t know what happened, I wasn’t _there_!”

“Shit,” Jack said, like Gavin had given him a straight answer instead of hedging so hard he was practically shrubbery now. “Okay. You’re going to be fine, so calm down.”

“I think Geoff’s gone,” Gavin blurted, sinking into himself. He felt sick, he felt so intensely alone that it was like being punched in his stomach. God, he didn’t want to vom right now. “A--and I don’t know what’s happening with Michael, I don’t know what’s _happening_.”

“It’ll be fine--”

“HOW WILL IT BE FINE?” Gavin roared, standing abruptly, aware he was wild about the eyes, wild about _everywhere_. “Captain fucking America just banished my entire family to another sodding planet, Jack!”

Jack stopped, went still, dropping his chin to his collarbone and breathing deeply, his nostrils flaring like a bull. Jack’s temper-- Gavin forgot or didn’t care or both. “They could be all gone,” Gavin said dully. “Griffon and Geoff and Michael and--” His voice hitched and he pressed his hands to his face.

“They might not be,” Caiti said gently. “Not to talk up Michael, but he does have godlike powers. He could win, and he’ll know how to bring everyone back from… where they’ve gone.”

“And what good does that do me right now?” Gavin asked bitterly.

“Nothing.” It was Heyman now, who’d not said a single word to Gavin since he arrived. “There’s not a fucking thing to do yet. We just wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Heyman smiled, and it wasn’t pleasant at all. It suited his face, though. “To see who arrives. We’re here. We have you.” He looked away, shaking his head. “Someone always wants you, kid.”

Hysteria threatened to seize hold of him, but Gavin held it down through sheer force of will. Heyman wasn’t wrong, was the thing; no one in the room even tried to correct him.

Jack stepped over to Gavin and put his hands on Gavin’s shoulders. When Gavin looked, he saw Jack’s face was lined with deep worry. Geoff wasn’t just Gavin’s family, he was Jack’s closest friend, the one who had stuck by him when the Hulk was born, and the loss was plain on his face.

“I know, Gavin. I want to go and find him now, make sure he’s all right.” His fingers tensed a little, the weight of his hand on Gavin almost realer than the rest of the world, solid and steady as they were. “But I promised Geoff I would watch you, and that is what I am going to do. If they’re coming for you, I’ll stop them.”

But that was the kicker, wasn’t it? Gavin had heard Ryan’s plans. He licked his lips, then coughed around the dryness in his throat and mouth. “That’s not all, though. Ryan, he’s not coming for me, he’s coming for you two,” he said to Jack and Heyman, just over his shoulder. “He’s singling out people with powers to get rid of them.”

“Why?” Caiti’s arms tucked in close to her chest, small and protective. Her fingers knotted together. “Why would he do that? He has powers too.”

“Oh, he doesn’t count,” Gavin explained in a false bright tone. “It’s just all the _other_ freaks he wants gone.” His mouth twisted. “And… and Geoff.” Geoff, who was just the guy in the suit. Gavin wondered if that meant he was doomed to be banished too. At least… then he’d be with his family. There was that. If everyone was gone, he’d prefer to join them, maybe. The idea that he’d never see any of his family again was too much for him. He slumped back down into a chair, thinking about Michael and about how he’d lived on Earth for years now and it still threw him. Would it be like that for Gavin?

The hands on his shoulders squeezed, bringing his attention back. Behind his glasses, Jack’s eyes were warm and calm, and Gavin thought he could feel that serene emotion spread into him. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “We’ve all weathered worst than this.”

He wasn’t wrong. Gavin nodded. “Right. All right.” This was the person Geoff had put in charge of protecting him. He had to trust him that far. The rest of his worries would have to wait; with no way of knowing what was happening, it was all he could do now.

Just wait and watch the skies. He took a seat by the window, even though the sun was pouring in and was hot against his skin. It’d been so long since he felt anything but a chill in his bones that it was a welcome change. He sat there, let the warmth seep into him, and let himself hope.

He was watching the horizon to the north, waiting for the dot that would become Geoff or Michael or a BYTE helicopter as they flew in. He waited for rain clouds to roll in, some sign of what was to come next.

And so, he wasn’t looking at the lawn in front of the house. He didn’t see it when Narvaroth phased into view, standing amid the grass with his great horned helm and lurid green robes, his hands sheathed in bulky gauntlets. Gavin didn’t see him until he stepped forward to the house with measured steps and the movement caught his eye.

Gavin’s blood turned to ice, a rush of fear taking him so fast he couldn’t make a sound outside the shocked gasp he sucked in.

Thankfully someone heard it. Caiti yelled for Jack and Gavin felt hands take him by the elbow, pulling him away from the window.

Narvaroth was here. Not Michael or even Ryan, but _Narvaroth_.

Despair settled onto Gavin like a rock crushing his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear what was being said around him. He did watch as Jack walked out of the house, standing between them and Narvaroth. Caiti was in the doorway, hands gripping the frame, her body still and coiled. That meant it was Heyman who was drawing him away from the scene. Any other day, Gavin would claw Heyman’s eyes out for touching him while he was still walking around with the man’s hand print scarred into his arm, but not now.

“Dr. Pattillo!” Narvaroth greeted Jack with a cheerful grin. “It’s been a while.”

“Leave now,” Jack said, low and intent. “You can’t have him, and if you try anything I will crush you. You can’t win this.”

“Oh,” Narvaroth said, eyebrows lifting. “Is that what you think?”

His hand flung up, sharp and precise, and Caiti was gone. There was a dazzling light and when it faded she wasn’t standing there anymore.

Jack _bellowed_ , and his body burst into green flesh, thickening and growing until his clothes ripped, showing off the sheer size of the Hulk. The yell Jack let out lengthened and grew in volume until the glass of the window rattled. It made Gavin’s ears ring, and snapped him out of his daze. Finally, as the roar died away, he could hear Heyman in his ear, whispering intently, “Come on, come _on_ , move it, kid.”

Gavin let Heyman drag him away through the house, walking blindly as he looked back and watched the way Narvaroth grinned into the face of the Hulk.

“Go, go, go, go,” Heyman chanted, hurrying Gavin down into the basement, to where Jack’s medical set-up was. Then, he lead Gavin down further, one more level.

Here, the walls were made of metal and sheer stone, even and plain. There was a wide hallway that ended in a single steel door. It was faced with wide metal bars made to go into the floor and ceiling to lock it in place.

“What-- what is this?”

“Jack’s room for the Big Guy,” Heyman said curtly. He found a keypad recessed into the wall and punched in a code quickly. “You are going to sit in here and be quiet as a motherfucking mouse, okay? Okay.” He finally let go of Gavin to grabbed the door with both hands to pull it forcefully open. It slid slowly, heavily, but on silent hinges. Inside was dark.

“We’re going to sit in there?” Gavin felt his skin prickle, adrenaline spiking through him. He didn’t want to sit and wait for help, he wanted to go home, he wanted this to be _over_. He wanted Brio back and Michael close by and his family safe, not to be hidden away like a rabbit in a den.

“You are. I’m going to try and hold that goat-horned fucker off.” Heyman pushed Gavin along until he hesitantly stepped inside.

“What-- why?” He turned to the door, looking at Heyman. “Why would you--?”

Heyman shook his head. “Don’t ask stupid questions. You know.” He didn’t say anything further, just pushed the door shut with his whole body. It swung closed again, and Gavin heard the metal bars slide into place, locking it tightly.

A light came on, pale blue, and it was Gavin’s only companion as he stumbled to a corner of the room and slumped to the floor, sitting with his legs bent in front of him, his arms around them.

It was quiet. There was cool air being cycled into the room, but Gavin couldn’t even hear the A/C at work. His own breathing was the only sound he could detect as his ears strained for any clues of what was going on outside. He didn’t know if Jack was okay or what Heyman was doing or--

What he did know. Gavin pressed his forehead hard against his knees as tears welled in his eyes. He knew that Geoff was gone. He knew that he had been right and Narvaroth had gotten the better of BYTE somehow. He knew that Michael was gone.

And he knew that Narvaroth was here for him. That wasn’t extrapolation or information, though, he just knew it, felt it with all the vividness of the bruises around his neck, left from his last encounter with Narvaroth. It was going to be like that all over again, he knew it. Agent Ray Narvaez had been a long con to get him killed and the meeting in the hotel had been a much faster attempt on his life. Here, there was no need for hesitation or games from Narvaroth.

Gavin realized then as he sat there that he wasn’t unafraid, but was so fucking scared he’d pushed through to the other side where he didn’t feel much of anything at all.

He missed Michael.

He sat in the dimly lit panic room and waited.

He had no way of knowing how long it took, but the door opened eventually, letting the light back in. He’d been sitting there long enough that he squinted against the glare, trying to see who was there. He could’ve moved to get a better view, but instead stayed perfectly still, not even breathing.

His head was yanked upward suddenly, a hand gripping his long hair in a merciless fist. Narvaroth shimmered into sight, standing over him. His other arm hung casually at his side, and Gavin caught the curve of Brio’s egg there, tucked into the palm piece.

Narvaroth jerked him upward, and Gavin hissed in pain, distantly wishing Narvaroth had a better grip on his hair. More surface area, less stinging hurt as he lifted Gavin to his feet and grinned triumphantly in his face.

“There you are,” Narvaroth said, his teeth the brightest thing in the room, gleaming like a shark. “I’ve been looking for you.”

 

* * *

 

Feeling a little sentimental, Narvaroth asked Gavin, “Do you remember when we met?”

He had his fist twined in Gavin’s hair. He’d let it get long, and it made an excellent place to hold. When he pulled, Gavin went instantly, meek and whining at the pain. Humans were so delicate. Narvaroth wondered if Michael had done this, directed his bondmate with a firm grip. Probably, but in a different context. Maybe that was the reason for the length.

Gavin tried to lift his head to look at Narvaroth, but the angle hurt him, and he stopped, gaze steady on the ground as Narvaroth lead them out of the house. It was much quieter now. Empty.

Narvaroth’s fingers tingled. He had the ability to draw in the power needed to use the gauntlets in quick succession, removing the people who stood in his way, but it took a toll. It was easy to propel himself forward with sheer determination, but the hollow feeling in his bones was still there, reminding him to be careful.

Gavin said nothing, which wasn’t unexpected. The shade of resigned sorrow that had settled over him when he realized how alone he was had been anticipated. Narvaroth remembered this part, the way Gavin drew in strength from his loved ones and how cutting him off from them left him helpless. Narvaroth had used that before, tried to make himself Gavin’s support, tenuous and fairweather.

“I always thought you’d be useful,” Narvaroth went on. “I mean, you think like the artisans back in Oestret Roethe and these,” he held up a hand, flashing Gavin a look at his gauntlets, a glimpse of the egg, “are shit I didn’t have before you. I always knew you’d be something worthwhile.”

“You tried to kill me,” Gavin muttered.

“Well, I was upset,” Narvaroth explained with exaggerated patience. “I know in hindsight that hitching myself to Mogar was a bad idea and I let that get out of hand. But now things are gonna be different.” He beamed happily at the idea. _No gods indeed, Haywood._ “It’s gonna be just you and me when we’re done.”

“Done-- bollocks, _ow_!” Narvaroth shoved Gavin forward once they stepped outside. His arm wrapped around Gavin’s chest, arms held tight to his sides as Narvaroth tucked him close. He looked over his shoulder at Narvaroth with those dull blue-green eyes.

“I suggest you don’t wiggle around much. I’m not used to hauling your ass around.” He held onto Gavin tightly and lifted off into the air. “You are going to help me with your family’s arc reactor. We are going to hook it up to these gauntlets as a power source and I’m going to open up the Bifrost and point it right at Oestret Roethe.” Saying the words aloud was still sweet and decadent, the fruition of his plan lush on his tongue. It’d been a long time since he’d tasted victory and _fuck_ , he was looking forward to it.

He could feel the sharp inhale Gavin took. “But-- that’s--”

“Without a gateway to control the energy, the Bifrost will destroy Oestret Roethe and bring an end to everyone residing there, and probably a lot of other places that depend on the Citadel for trade.” He flew them out of the suburb and towards Austin, towards Ramsey Headquarters. “I’ve taken out everyone who can stop me and I’m about to wipe them all out.” He squeezed Gavin. “Pretty good, huh?”

Gavin said nothing. He hung like dead weight against Narvaroth, eyes open but staring ahead in a way that made Narvaroth think he was in some kind of shock. Probably understandable; in a short amount of time, his entire world caved in on itself. As much as he hated to feel anything like empathy for a human, Narvaroth did know how that felt.

Gavin would have plenty of time to recover, though. Narvaroth didn’t plan to be a cruel king. He could give Gavin that time as he built his empire on Earth and planned his next steps.

He touched down in the front courtyard of Ramsey Enterprises, setting Gavin down. Immediately, Gavin fell, knees giving way, landing on his hands.

“Get up,” Narvaroth commanded and pointed to the building. “Where is the reactor?”

Gingerly, Gavin stood, swaying enough he almost fell again. The numb look had settled on his face, deep and impenetrable. It took a long moment before Gavin said, “First level.”

“Show me.” He nudged Gavin, and he stumbled, but didn’t fall this time, just trudged ahead, head hung low.

In the building, the lobby was staffed by receptionists and guards. They knew Gavin, either personally or by reputation. Narvaroth didn’t bother with an illusion, didn’t think it was worth the effort, and strode along in his golden-helmed glory with Gavin cowed at his side.

The guards were armed and reached for their guns. Tedious. “Stop them or I will,” Narvaroth said.

Obediently, Gavin held up his hands. “Stand down. He _will_ kill you. Just-- just stand down.”

“Sir--”

“Do as I say.” Gavin ordered, a rare bit of steel to him. Arrogance and smugness, those Narvaroth was used to seeing from Gavin. Actual authority was new.

It was also short-lived. The guards listened, which was a relief. Narvaroth wasn’t in the mood to handle them, not when his victory was growing ever closer. He could take care of them later anyway. As soon as they stood down, Gavin slumped again.

Narvaroth touched his shoulder. “Lead on.”

The reactor was where Gavin said it would be, the next floor up. It was the centerpiece of the building, the floors above it hollow for about five levels. It was clearly a crown jewel of Ramsey Enterprises. There were observation points around it, just out of reach of the clear ellipse that made the reactor’s shell. Inside pulsed with cycling blue-white energy, running steady laps in its tube. Narvaroth could feel the power of it, the waves that were coming from it. It wasn’t impressive compared to what he was used to growing up, but for humanity, it was a masterpiece.

Narvaroth left Gavin on one of the observation decks, trusting him to be a good boy and stay put. He drifted up into the air, closer to the reactor. Pulling off a glove, he pressed his hand to the glass.

Even so contained, the ambient energy was enormous, sending shivery heat up Narvaroth’s arm and into his body. His toes curled as it filled his bones, rejuvenating him in the wake of his use of the gauntlet. It felt _good_ , as power tended to.

This was going to work just fine.

He spun in the air, and found Gavin where he’d left him. There was a vacant set to his face. Not sorrow or anger or loss, just empty.

Narvaroth frowned. That was less satisfying but, well. So much had already gone right, he supposed he could let this part slide. He so wanted to revel in Gavin’s defeat, though, had wanted it since he heard that Michael had laid into him. Hearing that had… stung more than it should have. If Narvaroth was honest, he’d admit he was jealous. It was hard to see his prince settle like that, but that was when he realized an important truth; he’d hoped that Mogar was alive somewhere deep inside of Michael and he’d been wrong.

Old dreams. They died hard, but beyond them was a brighter future anyway. He’d survive. He’d grow. And really, letting go of Mogar was important to his development, Narvaroth thought. He’d never mature if he didn’t give up the idea of being with Mogar again.

Everything, Narvaroth knew, was about to come out in his favor. All his hard work and manipulations and stagecraft brought him here. He couldn’t wait longer.

“Where’s the mechanism for this thing?”

Gavin turned away and nodded to an alcove with a locked door. It was unlabeled, but when opened, it lead down a set of stairs, curving under the clear shell and blue metal of the reactor. Perfect.

He had Gavin walk ahead down the narrow passage, holding one hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling again. The stairs were steep and unforgiving to someone in the state Gavin was in, but they made it down without another stumble. The stairwell opened into some sort of control room. It was set against the underside of the reactor, the glass tube its ceiling. All around were consoles and heavy tubes and wiring. There was no one there, though; the reactor must’ve been pretty self-sufficient.

“This thing is powering Austin or something, right?” Narvaroth asked, pulling his gauntlet back on and flexing his fingers.

“Yes,” Gavin said.

“Then stop powering Austin. I want all of this thing’s power available and ready to go.”

Here is where Narvaroth started watching Gavin carefully again. Here, he could imagine Gavin suddenly feeling _brave_ and trying to put a stop to his plans. He wouldn’t let that happen and held his gaze heavy on Gavin as he went to one of the consoles and started to play with the controls.

There was a reverberating, loud hum, and the light above them grew brighter, more rapid as it circled its enclosure, pacing circuits like a restless animal. “Power back to full,” Gavin said.

“How do I access it?” Narvaroth asked, unable to contain the edge of tense excitement in his voice. There was so much, he almost thought he could just draw in the ambient power and propel it through the gauntlets that way. Having the patience to do it right was agonizing. “I need a hook up, get it for me.”

Gavin looked around, blinking dimly. “There’s that panel,” he said, pointing to one of the columns in the room. Most were solid stone, probably encasing whatever conduits drew the power out of the reactor and sent it away to be used. The one Gavin pointed at had a metal slate set into it.

“Get it open,” Narvaroth said. Gavin turned his head to look at him. “What?”

“I… It’s heavy. It has to be pried.”

“Then you best get something to do that, huh?” Narvaroth smirked at him before looking up at the reactor again.

So close. He was _so close_.

 

* * *

 

Gavin stood there with one arm wrapped around his abdomen and its stitches and waited for his mind to parse Narvaroth’s latest order. Pry open the hatch. The metal hatch that was set deeply into the stone because strictly speaking it wasn’t needed anymore, that hatch? He looked at it, then back at Narvaroth.

Narvaroth wasn’t paying any attention on him. He was looking up into the reactor like it was a precious gift laid at his feet. Gavin’s nose wrinkled, thinking about how Griffon would react if she were still here. She’d take one look at the proprietary way Narvaroth was staring at _her_ reactor and take Narvaroth apart at the seams for being so presumptuous.

But Griffon wasn’t there. So Gavin searched the room for something to help him. He needed leverage.

“You don’t need to worry anymore, you know,” Narvaroth said, his attention still on the reactor. Gavin knew instantly he was being talked at, not talked to, and kept looking through the engineer’s stations. “You’ve lost a lot, I know, but I’m going to need you in my new world, so you’ll be kept safe. And obviously I need your little hatchling too, so they’ll be fine.”

That struck a chord, thrumming through Gavin until he grit his teeth against the way Narvaroth’s words rang through him. Maybe it was really meant to be a reassurance, but the threat was obvious and clear. It shuddered through Gavin’s body until he was left even more weary and numb than before.

Gavin found a tool shelf with actual useful things; Geoff was a big believer in keeping Ramsey Enterprises stocked up on things like basic spanners and screwdrivers and hammers, because you just never knew when you needed stuff like that, even in the high tech world of R&D. Thus, there was a crowbar on the shelf, one of those oversized jobs meant for really getting into stuff. It was heavy in his arms and made his stitches pull as he hefted it and carried it back over to the column he needed to open.

“It’s a shame we only have the one,” Narvaroth went on in a musing tone. “I mean… I can work with that, I think, but more of the royal bloodline would’ve helped. I’m not sure how the Bifrost will react to most of the amaranthine people being wiped out, but the power always passes to the most worthy amaranth.” He laughed, smugly pleased. “With so many candidates taken out of the equation, I don’t think I’ll be too far down the list.”

He stopped what he was doing, looking over his shoulder at Narvaroth. He was flushed and cheerful, wearing a look so pleased and confident, it made Gavin feel sick again. Now he _did_ want to vom, right on Narvaroth’s shiny bloody shoes.

“I’ll need to start a bloodline of my own,” he said, his smile fading a bit. “Ugh.” There was an actual grimace on his face, like he’d tasted something awful. “I mean, Michael got used to humans, so I guess…” His mouth twisted. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten rid of Ryan…” Careless, he glanced at Gavin, then back up at the reactor, and Gavin caught the way his fingers twitched. “I’ll figure out something.”

The wash of cold that took Gavin then was sharp and stinging. This wasn’t going to be the end of it. He’d not thought of that. Walking into Ramsey Enterprises had felt like walking to his own execution, but that wasn’t it at all. Narvaroth wasn’t going to kill him this time. He was going to _keep_ him. And Brio.

Brio.

It wasn’t enough that Narvaroth had sidled up to Gavin and wormed his way into his heart and tried to break him, or that Gavin still woke up sweating and shaking to dreams about Ray Narvaez dying in his arms, or that he’d tried to strangle Gavin and taken everyone from Gavin. That apparently wasn’t all.

Gavin’s gaze caught the glow in Narvaroth palm, that tiny egg that had sat in him like a ballast and grounded him. It’d made him sick, left him exhausted for months, and was heavy in a way nothing else compared to. And now Brio was fated to be another pawn in Narvaroth’s scheme.

 _No_ , Gavin decided.

He turned slowly to the panel and lifted the crowbar, setting the edge against the groove between metal and stone. He pushed, letting the crowbar click loudly against the panel and huffing loudly for a moment before dropping his arms, his hands still wrapped around the handle as the bar clanged loudly against the floor.

Narvaroth sighed. “Fucking _humans_ ,” he muttered, and Gavin heard his steps as he walked over.

Shutting his eyes, Gavin waited, taking a deep breath.

Now. It had to be now.

Gavin whirled on him with a hoarse scream of rage, throwing every ounce of his weight and power into the wide arc of the swing, slamming the crowbar into the side of Narvaroth’s skull with a dull thud and driving him to the ground.

He didn’t know if it was the actual force of the strike or just the shock that brought Narvaroth down, but there was no time. Gavin dropped the crowbar and threw himself down onto Narvaroth, driving his knees into his stomach and earning a hurt grunt and another second of shock.

Gavin grabbed Narvaroth’s wrist in both hands and lifted it, pounding it down against the floor over and over until it uncurled. He could see Brio’s egg there, bright and perfect, and scrambled for it.

“You little _shit_ ,” Narvaroth swore, and jammed his knee into Gavin’s side.

It hurt. It hurt like nothing else in Gavin’s entire life, but it didn’t stop him. He held on, a hand clenching tight in Narvaroth’s robes, the other trying to wrestle Brio from his grasp.

He was recovering from surgery and alone and scared out of his fucking mind and the power of furious retribution could only carry him so far. He grappled at Narvaroth, trying to get his fingers into his eyes or against his throat, scratching and wild. He felt like he’d always wanted to do this, to tear into Narvaroth, revenge for what he’d done to Gavin.

Narvaroth pushed through it with more difficulty that Gavin would’ve expected, and when he did he caught Gavin by the shoulder and slammed him into the floor with a bruising grip. His teeth were bared, not in a grin this time, angry and cruel. “Fine. _Fine_ , I don’t need you anyway,” he hissed, and lifted his hand.

He was faced with the pale curve of Brio’s shell and the familiar glimmer of his pendant. They were _his_ , and so Gavin reached for them. He rolled up, fighting through the pain in his gut to reach out and grab hold of the gauntlets. His fingers brushed against their strange heat. something he’d missed terribly since they’d been stolen from him.

He heard Narvaroth start yelling, the words not making sense over the pounding in his ears, but Gavin held on as Narvaroth tried to jerk away, eyes wide and scared suddenly, and then

then Gavin felt weightless, his body floating, gravity suddenly gone. He’d never felt anything like it-- but that dream, the dream of falling through the rain and darkness, how no way was up and his world made no sense and yet he was safe, he was safer than ever because he was never safer than when in the eye of the storm.

The weightless feeling stopped and when it went away, it took with it all the things that made sense.

Gavin landed hard on his side, knocked away from Narvaroth. The first thing he noticed was the pain; he felt it all at once, sudden and devastating, stealing his air as he tried desperately to breathe through it and the sudden all-encompassing feeling of displacement that took over.

When he could comprehend what he was seeing, he found himself somewhere new. It was a great round room, the domed ceiling and walls golden and intricately etched. There was light, so much light under him, dancing gold and red and blue and green and violet and back through the spectrum. He turned his head, slow and aching.

Geoff. Geoff was there in half his suit. People in vibrant robes were with him, apparently extricating him from it piece by piece. He was alive.

And the Hulk was hard to miss. Jack was green and stomping his feet, growling like an angry bear as Caiti stood before him, her hands lifted and placating. Around her, brandishing some gilded rods were more people. In fact, the robed people were everywhere, all armed with-- something. Gavin didn’t understand, though felt like he was close to it, close to comprehending through the pain and surprise what had happened.

He heard Narvaroth scream in agony, frustration. It was wordless, like a child throwing a tantrum, and all that anger was aimed right at him as he lay on the floor.

“You. You _ruin it all_ ,” Narvaroth screamed as he loomed over him, and took a step closer. “Every fucking _time_!”

He was stopped. Across the room, Michael ( _Michael Michael there was Michael how_ ) broke free of the guards that stood over him, swung out his hand to grab his hammer, and let it fly in one perfect movement. It slung forward into Narvaroth’s back, knocking him down in a single strike.

Then, Michael knelt again, his hands behind his head. The robed people around him had moved to intercept, but it was over so quickly, they could only stand awkwardly over him as he knelt there and look at each other with uncertainty.

“Enough with this shit, restain the other exile and call a healer _now_ ,” Michael snapped, voice loud and echoing around the room. His eyes were on Gavin though, and he said, “You’re going to be okay. They’ll take care of you, you’ll be fine.” Then, loud again, “ _Hurry it up_!”

Gavin didn’t feel like he was going to be okay. He hurt, the pain so intense it felt like it was his entire body. Every inch of him was hurting, like he was one big wound. Slowly, he touched his stomach, found where he was bleeding through his ruined stitches. That wasn’t good.

Someone crashed down next to him, and Gavin could barely see, but he could smell hot metal and sawdust. Calloused, hot hands closed around his. “Gavin, Gavin, hang on, sweetie, hang on,” Griffon said, fast and frantic. “Someone, get over here! Help!”

Griffon. Griffon was okay. He’d found her. And Michael. His family, they were there.

Oh. Oestret Roethe. He was on Oestret Roethe.

He didn’t know what that meant and was too far gone to figure it out. Instead, Gavin shut his eyes, letting it all slip away.


	13. in the citadel of the burning king

There are different kinds of sleep, in Gavin’s experience. There are restful sleeps and ones that leave him drained and tired upon waking; there are the ones that are dreamless and the ones that pull Gavin back further into his subconscious every time he rouses so he can finish his adventure. There are the nights gone so quickly he can’t believe the passage of time around him, and there are ones that drag on and on and on.

The next time Gavin woke, he was aware he’d been out for a while. It could have been days, as far as he could tell. He dreamt of nothing, but still somehow knew that he’d missed a lot.

Like coming out of a long hibernation, Gavin opened his eyes to find out what the world had been up to while he was away.

His calm shattered when he found Michael sitting beside his bed, looking out the window.

Gavin sucked in a breath-- _Michael_ \-- and reached for him, desperate. Michael looked at him with wide eyes. “Gavin--”

Whatever he was going to say was muffled against Gavin’s shoulder as Gavin pulled him in with grasping fingers, sitting up in bed and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Michael stiffened, surprised, but returned the embrace. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I said you would be, didn’t I?”

Gavin didn’t particularly care if he was okay, only that Michael was there and whole and real. And he _was_ real; there was no way Narvaroth could have known the simple gesture of Michael tucking his hand into Gavin’s hair, pressing his nose against the spot right behind Gavin’s ear and nuzzling there.

Michael was okay. That meant, “Brio?”

“Brio’s fine. Here.” He pulled away and held out a hand and _something_ drifted over. It was floating, a curved bowl with a translucent canopy over it. Michael pulled it down to him and tipped it for Gavin to see.

In the bowl, beyond the barrier, was the egg, sitting unassumingly on a soft cloth. It looked whole and safe, still glowing faintly.

Gavin reached in carefully, reassured when his hand passed right through the veil, and picked up Brio, pulling them close. His fingers searched the shell’s surface meticulously for any chip or crack, any sign of what Narvaroth put it through. The egg was still a heavy, perfect sphere in his hands, and the worry that loosened from where it had wrapped around Gavin’s ribs was so intense he curled up, hiding his face as his eyes stung.

Michael slid onto the bed with him and held him until the shaking passed.

Then, softly, he asked, “What happened, Gavin?”

“Narvaroth,” Gavin said, like the name alone was enough. But he knew Michael was looking for more. “He wanted to destroy your world with the Bifrost. He was going to keep Brio and me. I couldn’t…” He sucked in a breath and shuddered violently. “I had a crowbar. I waited from him to get close and fucking hit him in his big smug face.” He laughed harshly at the memory. “Best thing I’ve ever done, Brio and the suit included.”

Michael hummed and brushed Gavin’s hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. “Do you remember anything after that?”

“He got me in the stomach. After that, I don’t really know…” It was then Gavin realized that his surgery stitches didn’t hurt. In fact, besides the frantic worry that he’d woken up in, he felt _great_ , better than he had since… the Keys, probably.

Tucking Brio into his arm, Gavin patted his stomach, first above the covers to marvel at the lack of pain. Then, he reached under the sheets to explore the planes of his skin. There were no stitches, not even the soft crinkled line of a scar. He sat up, pushing down the satin sheets (not satin, the material felt weird, like the oddest mix of satin and suede, and that didn’t even make sense) and looked at where his surgery scar should’ve been. The only sign it had been there was the missing line of his pelvic hair. The skin was even and perfect beside the bald bit.

“Um,” Gavin said.

“Sorry,” Michael said, putting his hand over Gavin’s where it was pressed to his abdomen. “I know humans assign a lot of meaning to scars.”

“That’s… fine.” He dropped the sheets and looked around. His gaze was drawn to the hovering bowl thing again, which was waiting very patiently in the air in front of him. “What’s that then?”

“Well, when Griffon saw it,” Michael said, “she called it an anti-grav bassinet. It just follows you around with your egg before it’s placed.”

“Placed?”

“In a garden.”

“Griffon,” Gavin said with sudden intent. “So is everyone all right? What’s going on? Why are you wearing a tiara?”

“Pick one,” Michael said, but he was smiling.

Easier said than done, especially when Gavin grew distracted by his surroundings. He was in a round room-- no, hexagonal-- with a tall, arched ceiling set with intricate tiled patterns that glinted in the light. That light was golden in a way that Gavin wasn’t used to, the air around him seeming thicker somehow, like if he relaxed his eyes and watched carefully he could see the waves of light and sound and motion moving through it. Usually faux-philosophical ideas like that only hit him when he was drunk, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t. Jack had said he couldn’t drink with his meds.

“I’m on Oestret Roethe,” he ventured. Michael nodded. “Where? Not that the specifics will mean much to me, but…”

“One of the healing houses. You were heavily injured when you arrived. The healers mended you. You slept for about a day afterward.”

“Why are you wearing that?” Gavin asked next, pointing to the circlet. There was a thin steel-colored band wrapped around Michael’s forehead, set with pale yellow stones. It was set close enough and tight enough that Michael’s skin puckered slightly around it, and Gavin felt a professional disdain for the fit; it didn’t look comfortable. He ran his fingers along it, following it where it cut through Michael’s curls.

Michael reached up, catching his hand and pulling it back down to the space between them, where their hands linked together and Brio rolled down Gavin’s arm. Michael rubbed his thumb over Gavin’s knuckles, a quiet soothing gesture as he explained: “Well, a bunch of people from another world appearing in the main gate house of the Citadel garnered a lot of attention. The bridge watchers had their hands full getting us all locked down and figuring out what was going on. Then I crashed the party, and…” He ducked his head, taking a breath. “I was able to explain, but they weren’t really inclined to listen to the disgraced exile, you know. Then _Jack_ showed up, and that was exciting.” He grinned, but only for a moment before he grew somber again. “Then you and Narvaroth crashed in, and pretty much confirmed what I was saying about the impending danger.”

“Where’s Narvaroth now?”

“Prison cell under the Citadel. Same with Haywood. I should be with them, but…” he tapped the band around his head and held up his hand to show the dark bracers that were there, fastened around his forearms under the cuffs Gavin had made him. “I elected for another kind of containment so I could stay with you. Since we just had Brio, they were forced to oblige me.”

“What do they do?” Gavin asked.

“Mute my abilities.” Michael’s face pinched, like just saying it out loud was painful. “They’re only for very specific circumstances and only used for a short term. My people think of them as… It doesn’t matter.” He squeezed Gavin’s hand. “It’s only until my day in the high court. I have to make my case to the Burning King.”

“Your case?” Gavin frowned. “What case is there to make? We can’t go home?”

“You can,” Michael said instantly. “You’re not going to be kept here, it’s just until the King knows what’s going on, then you and your family and everyone can go back to Earth.”

The caveat was pretty obvious. “But not you.”

“I don’t know.” He sighed deeply. “I was banished and I came back--”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah. But whether that matters is up to the King. He’s off-world right now, will be back in a day or two. That’s when I’ll be summoned to speak.”

Gavin searched Michael’s face, trying to figure out what that meant. There was a severity to him that he was trying to hide, something that worried Gavin. This should’ve been it. They saved Oestret Roethe, they finally put Narvaroth down. This was the part where they went home with Brio and finally got started on building that house and getting ready for what came next. The deep worry in Michael flowed into Gavin and more than anything, Gavin thought it wasn’t _fair_. After all they’d been through, it should’ve been enough.

Michael smiled, and it was a little forced. “Are you up for getting out of bed? Geoff and Griffon’ll want to see you.”

 _That_ Gavin remembered. He remembered what must’ve been the gate house and laying on the floor, dazed and bleeding out with Griffon bent over him like a shield. “Yes,” Gavin said. “I would _love_ to get out of this bloody bed. I’ve spent enough damn time sleeping.”

That required getting dressed. Someone came with clothes and Gavin's first culture shock. The person wasn't like Michael, was another species entirely and reminded Gavin of something out of a horror movie. They were a tall, chitinous being with dark grey skin (or maybe it was a shell) that gleamed with an array of blues and greens and yellows. They wore a long wrap around their jutting hips but otherwise were naked, showing off their hard exoskeleton.

Gavin squeaked and tried to back away, pressing close to Michael. The being stopped halfway into the room, looking at Michael.

“Pre-spaceflight,” Michael said, slipping out from under Gavin carefully to stand beside the bed. “Gav, relax, they’re one of the tenders here, they’re not going to hurt you.” To the bug-person, he said, “No offense is meant.”

“None is taken,” they said in reply as they brusquely set out tied bundles of clothes. “The verva have made contact with more peoples than the amaranthine. We’re used to such reactions to the unfamiliar.” They turned huge pupil-less eyes to Gavin. “Welcome to the Citadel, and swift greetings.”

“Uhm.” Gavin made himself untense, though it was difficult. “Thanks. Same to you.”

The tender _buzzed_ , but it was a nice buzz, so Gavin assumed that was a good thing. “If you require more recovery, you may return here tonight to rest. Otherwise, I’m told you have new quarters in the central spire, visitor, Prince Mogar.”

Michael’s expression soured instantly. “I’ve told you already,” he said, low and cold, “That is not my name. Would you call the Elder Healer by her clutch name?”

The tender stilled, its luminous eyes focusing on Michael. At least, Gavin assumed. It was hard to tell, they were so large. “No.”

“Then don’t call me Mogar. It’s Michael.” He stood and took the bundles that had been laid out. “I’ll take it from here, thank you for your attentions.”

The tender buzzed again, the sound less smooth on Gavin’s ears, and left without another word.

The silence left in their wake was uncomfortable, so Gavin broke it. “That was a bug person.”

Michael smirked. “A verva. I told you, lots of people live here. The verva are good people, very strong. They can fly too, with a bunch of overlapping wings,” he wiggled his fingers, which was probably meant to demonstrate something. “They have a very wide empire.”

“You didn’t like that one,” Gavin pointed out.

“It’s rude to call an amaranth by one of their old names unless you are very familiar.” He untied one of the bundles and picked out some long panels of cloth, shaking them out. “Don’t worry about it. C’mere.”

Getting out of bed was easy in a way Gavin forgot it could be. He'd gone through weeks of sickness, then for the months he'd been heavy and constantly struggling against inertia to move, and after _that_ he'd been recovering from his surgery. The ability to hop up and onto his feet was almost decadent, and Gavin grinned from that alone. When Michael helped him get dressed, it wasn’t because he needed the help physically, but because amaranthine clothes were _complicated_.

“No, they aren’t,” Michael chided when Gavin said as much. He took Brio away from Gavin and set the egg back into the little patiently-hovering bassinet. “There’s just less buttons and shit.”

Instead, there was draping and hidden arm- and neck-holes to locate and stick his limbs through. The vibrantly colored robes hung loose around Gavin, enough he was afraid they’d fall off, but Michael grabbed bunches of cloth around Gavin’s shoulders and at his hips, clenching the folds together. When he let go, they stayed as though they’d been fastened.

Gavin made an interested noise and tugged at the bunches. They came loose, and Michael sighed loudly, resetting them. “It’s metalcloth. It’ll bind together where you need, just don’t fuck with it.”

“Ooh, that’s very handy. You could make a whole outfit with one sheet then.”

“Some do. It’s a fashion thing.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Are you good? Is it too cold?”

“No, but what about--” Gavin turned to look for Brio, and yelped as the bassinet was right behind him. “Sneaky little bugger.”

“It’ll follow you, don’t worry about it.” He offered his arm. “Ready to go?”

There were two things that Gavin noticed as they left the room. The first was that Michael left the second bundle of clothes without even opening it. He was the odd one out, wearing his jeans and bomber jacket and mail shirt. That was probably significant, but before Gavin could ask, he saw the bracers on Michael’s arms light up briefly as they left. “What’s that then?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m basically under a really lax house arrest.” Michael tucked his free hand into his pocket, hiding most of the bracer in the folds of his jacket. “I’m confined to the valley and these things keep track of my location. Strictly speaking I should be in lock-up, but I get an exception thanks to you.” He steered Gavin down the hallway, more high archways and elaborate stonework all around them. “The visitors-- your people-- they all have a guard keeping track of them.”

“That’s creepy, but I guess it’s… it’s better than…” Gavin looked down at their feet. “Hang on.”

Michael smiled, lifting his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

Every time Gavin or Michael put their feet down against the brushed red floors, a tone rang out. It was very distracting. “What is that?”

“It’s the Citadel. It sings.” Michael chuckled as Gavin staggered his steps, quick and slow in turns, testing the tone. Every time, it was the same sound, like the ring of a glass bell. He noticed Michael’s were a higher octave than his. “Wait until we get to a crowded area, you’ll see.”

It was… a lot to take in, almost too much to process. Gavin kept looking over his shoulder, making sure the bassinet was still following them, not comforted by the first ten times he checked and found it there. There was the music under their feet, how it swelled and joined to others’ steps as they passed through the Citadel, through more open areas with more people. There was the _gravity_ , which Gavin was fairly certain was lower than Earth gravity, but only enough that it nagged at him. There was the way the metalcloth rubbed against his skin, that same not-smooth but not-suede texture as the bed clothes.

There was the first real view of Oestret Roethe that he caught. Michael led him down a grand staircase that faced an open courtyard, and from that vantage point Gavin could see it. He could see the red walls of the Citadel reaching up to the pink-gold sky. He could see the walls of the valley, verdant yellow and blue and violet and (like a belated concession to normal palettes) green. Directly ahead was a golden sphere at the end of a glistening rainbow bridge, everything around it built to draw the eye to it. The gate house. The Bifrost. Beyond it was a dark horizon, stars bright, ignoring the midday sun above.

It was like looking through rose colored glasses, even the cool hues lending to the warm reds and pinks and golds all around. Gavin could hear the chimes and tones of the people around him, how some steps wove together into impromptu melodies. That was besides the people who flew through the air and the way they trailed contemplative bassy strings after them.

When Gavin turned to Michael, he found Michael already staring at him, watching his face. He still had that proud little smile on. “Pretty good, huh?”

“You _lived_ here,” Gavin breathed.

“And I betrayed it. You see what a crime that was now?”

More than anything, Gavin wondered how the hell Michael dealt with Earth, where it was so _quiet_.

Unable to resist the urge any longer, Gavin turned and pulled Brio’s little carrier out of the air, holding it close to his chest. There were just so many people, amaranths and more tall verva and some furred people that looked like something from Narnia and one enormous stone golem with bright green moss that had to hunch to make it through the archways. If Gavin were separated from Michael here, he’d be lost forever.

“How do you find anything? Where’s Geoff and Griffon?” Gavin asked, voice pitched loud over the sound of conversation and music rising from the open courtyard before them.

Michael led him along. At the main archway of the courtyard, he said to the red crystal frame, “Mead district.”

A circle of light appeared, deep in the crystal, and lead the way, sailing along the Citadel walls in a clear direction to the east. If Oestret Roethe had an east. Gavin didn’t know and was too busy handling everything _else_ to ask. The noise level didn’t help.

“This way,” Michael said, and Gavin was pathetically grateful for the hand on his elbow guiding him along. Without it, he didn’t know how he’d keep putting one foot in front of the other.

 

* * *

 

It did not surprise Gavin that his family had spent two days on Oestret Roethe and had successfully found the amaranthine’s idea of alcohol. He probably would have been disappointed if that wasn’t the case.

It was quieter just outside the Citadel walls, in the low-lying mead district. Still, distantly Gavin could hear the Citadel’s singing, its song looming much like its tall outer wall as they followed it along. The path here was green, worn stones separated by the subtle movement of water flowing through the cracks. “What’s the water for?” Gavin asked once he noticed it.

“Hm?” Michael followed where Gavin was pointing. “It’s nutrient-rich water, for the epigaeon.” When Gavin lifted his eyebrows at that, he went on. “A native race to Oestret Roethe. They travel best through water. They’re a moss collective.”

“A what?” He scoffed. “You’re having me on now.”

Michael took the bassinet out of Gavin’s hands and nudged it forward. It hovered ahead of them, where Gavin could see it. In its stead, Michael wound their arms together again. “Story goes a rather assholish mage was working up in the mountains at the top of one of the waterfalls that flows into the Citadel. He had a habit of dumping spare materials into the water. Few centuries later, the moss that lined the waterfall started inhabiting old statues and things to so they could walk around and explore. Asshole mage tried to name himself their owner since he created him. The lord-queen at the time, though, declared the moss sentient.” He waved a hand through the air. “So we have the epigaeon. If you see any big rock guys, that’s them, but they also move through the waterways to get around and cultivate more of themselves and stuff.”

Gavin let all of that sink in. “You’re _really_ having me on.”

“They built most of this district. Any building made mostly out of wood and stone and metal rather than Citadel glass? Probably epigaeon architecture. And they live in the walls too. They’re smarter in large groups or something.” He shrugged nonchalantly enough that Gavin believed him.

“Bloody hell,” Gavin breathed. “That’s… terrifying.”

“Nah, you get used to it.” He laughed as he watched the incredulous look on Gavin’s face. “Come on, I bet Griffon’s met some with all the time she’s spent with the forge engineers. She and Geoff should be around here.”

It took some searching. Michael poked his head into several of the open-air taverns that lined the street. At least, tavern was the best word Gavin could come up with for them. Each place had its own look and feel, but they were all made of rougher materials than the Citadel, with stacked stones held in place by weight and precision placement instead of moulding; with carefully carved wood, including one tavern that seemed to be made entirely from one solid block of some giant tree; one place didn’t seem to have a visible door, but Michael said it was a verva joint so the entrance was on the top.

Geoff spotted them before Michael found the right place. He was sitting outside at one of the tables and waved them down as they approached. “Nice to see you, Sleeping Beauty.” He got up and hugged Gavin. “How are you feeling? The aliens taking good care of you?”

“I think we’re the aliens here,” Gavin pointed out mildly. “And I’m fine. I’m great, really. Better than I’ve been in months.”

“Good, so you can help me drag Griffon away from all her shiny toys.” He led Gavin over to the table and called, “Griffon! Come say hello to our fucking kid and be familial and shit!”

Griffon had apparently made friends already. She was standing with a group of amaranths who wore dull-colored robes tailored close to their bodies. There was a strange way she fit in among them, something about their exposed arms and her lack of sleeves, displaying her toned biceps. She was, out of the Ramseys, most used to the physical labor of her work, and it showed.

She was in deep conversation with the table of people before Geoff’s shout, but she didn’t hesitate to break away and cross the tavern to sweep Gavin into another hug. Her hand pressed his face in close, holding him for a long moment. “There you are. Are you okay, sweetie?”

He bobbed his head. “I’m fine, really. Like I was never surgeried on. What about you, who’re they?”

“Oh, _Gavin_ ,” Griffon said fondly, releasing him so they could all sit down. “They work in the forges, which, you know, sound all dark and soot-filled, but they’re just workshops, _beautiful_ workshops. You have to see one before we go, you’ll love it.” She steepled her fingers, grinning. “They’re very clear on how they’re not supposed to seed younger races with their technology, but they don’t kick me out when they’re working, so I’ve got a few tricks to bring home with us.”

“I’m going to pretend I can’t hear any of this,” Michael said.

Griffon hit his arm. “Don’t pretend you’re not Team Earthling, Michael. We know better.” She was sitting next to Gavin and rubbed her hand up and down his arm, like she was reassuring herself they were together again. He appreciated it, her ever so slightly too warm touch. “Oh, you brought your sprog.” She reached out, tipping the bassinet down to look at Brio. “Nice job.”

Gavin flushed. “Thanks. So, how’s Jack?”

Geoff nodded. “Good. Calmed down, has just been waiting to return home. I think they’re waiting for the verdict on Heyman.”

“Verdict?” Gavin asked, noting the way Griffon frowned unhappily.

“The amaranths and… who are the plant people?” Geoff looked at Michael.

“The zephyranthene,” he answered.

“Yeah, them. They think they can fix Heyman’s Extremis so he’s less likely to blow all the time and is more stable, so Jack and Caiti are waiting for word on that.”

Gavin bit his lip, thinking about when Narvaroth came for him at the Pattillo house. “He tried to hide me. Tried to slow down Narvaroth.” He looked askance at Griffon.

“Why?” She didn’t look impressed.

Gavin shrugged. He knew that Griffon was never going to forgive Heyman and wasn’t really looking to argue for that anyway. The fact of the matter was that Heyman might’ve done some truly heinous shit, no debate there, but he wasn’t the sort of manic brand of diabolic that Narvaroth was. It felt significant, somehow, especially considering Michael.

And Jack cared about Heyman. That had its own weight.

Soon, tall glasses of mead were brought to their table, and Gavin couldn’t help but be amused at how the gold worked with the color scheme of Oestret Roethe. The mead tasted tartly sweet and a little spicy on his tongue, but it wasn’t bad. He missed the wheaty flavor of beer, but the mead was fine enough too. Michael frowned at his glass though.

“Earth does it better,” he said, staring disappointedly into his drink.

“Well, I was talking to the owner of one of the other fine alcoholic purveyors around here,” Geoff said. “Might be able to do something about that for you.”

“Is that how it’s gonna be?” Gavin asked. “Coming and going from this place?”

Griffon and Geoff shared a look. Her fingers tapped against her mouth and Geoff shrugged. “That’s apparently up to the King. I mean, not to give Haywood credit he doesn’t deserve, but the man had a point about using Earth as a dumping ground. Sort of hard to unring that bell now, I think.”

Everyone’s attention shifted to Michael, who said nothing about it. Instead, he got up. “I’m going to order some food. Gavin, you’re hungry, right?”

Gavin nodded, and Geoff sighed. “Get us that meat dumpling thing they have, a big pot. With the potato bowls.”

“They’re not potatoes,” Michael said.

“They’re root vegetables that are white and kind of bland,” Geoff said. “Potatoes.”

“Fuck me,” Michael mumbled, but walked away to get food. Gavin settled in to wait a while, but in a moment, Michael returned with a tray of goodies: soft, warm bowls that Gavin had to admit looked like potatoes, a great earthen pot he set in the middle of the table, and a smaller bowl of cream-white ice cubes.

Griffon, without a word, took Gavin’s bowl, dropped two cubes into it, and ladled out the stew. It was a thin broth with floating brown dumplings. As the cube melted, though, it thickened up, taking on a lighter color.

It was the best thing he’d had in weeks, even if the flavors were all just a bit off. There was something like ginger, but not, and something like cayenne, but not. The meat was gamey and thick in a way that made Gavin think of roast beef, but it was apparently from some sort of bird.

Still, he finished his bowl quickly before helping himself to seconds while Griffon talked about amaranthine technology. It helped him get some distance away from everything that had happened, made him feel like he was just on a vacation of some kind.

That illusion cracked when Griffon reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder protectively just as Caleb Denecour said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I have a word?”

It was instinctual when Gavin pulled Brio out of the air and against his chest, protection without even registering the owner of the voice. When Gavin turned, he saw the way Denecour’s smile was tinged with sadness. He bowed his head. “That’s a very valid reaction, but I’m here about that. If you’d prefer I just left, I understand.”

“Talk fast,” Geoff said, looking like he was considering the stew ladle’s potential as a weapon.

“I’m sorry,” Denecour said. “I wanted the chance to say that. When I joined BYTE, I wanted to bring more good into the world, even if that meant doing the dirty work so others wouldn’t have to. I lost sight of what was good and I hurt your family.” He nodded to Griffon. “I arranged for your infiltration as a trap.” Then to Gavin. “And I stole your child. I am truly, deeply sorry.”

“How in the name of fuck did you think you were working for the angels?” Geoff asked.

“I didn’t. Just the better man,” Denecour said. “And I was wrong. Captain America was a good symbol, but Captain Haywood was just a charismatic shadow of what he could’ve been.”

Michael’s gaze held steady on Denecour’s face. There was nothing there, no anger or forgiveness. “I thought I was going to kill you for that,” he said.

Denecour turned to return the gaze. There was something eerie about the way he met it so calmly, like people threatening to kill him was commonplace for him. Maybe it was. “Would you still like to?”

Michael _thought about it_. Gavin watched him do it with a growing feeling of dread, but after a moment, Michael shrugged one shoulder and turned back to his food. “S’not worth it if you want it.”

Denecour hummed thoughtfully. “You may be a god, but clearly not a merciful one.” He shook himself, like he was dislodging the thought. “Anyway. Captain Haywood is going to face judgement here when the amaranthine king can see him.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Gavin asked.

“Because you and I both know that BYTE’s actions get swept under the rug and that back on Earth, public opinion in on the Captain’s side.” Denecour gave a rueful smile. “We made sure of that. I had no idea it’d bite us so hard, pardon the pun. But here, maybe something like justice will be possible.” He shrugged, arms loose and boneless at his side. “Can only hope now.”

“Well, then,” Griffon said, eyes narrow on Denecour. “I’d say keep us informed, but.”

That sunshine grin bloomed on Denecour’s face, and even now, even after everyone he’d done to Gavin, seeing it made Gavin want to smile back. Gavin entertained the idea that Denecour was some kind of witch. “But you’d rather never see the likes of me again.” He nodded. “I can arrange that.” In a weird bit of formality, he bowed at the waist, showing his neck, which Gavin was pretty sure spies were never supposed to do. Or maybe they were. Maybe that’s what made them good spies.

Espionage was really exhausting.

Straightening, Denecour gave the family one last smile before turning and walking out of their lives.

The sense of relief around the table was almost tangible in the air.

It did leave Gavin with a question, though. “Why would anyone do that? Leave a baddie’s fate up to an alien king? I mean, no offense, love, but it’s odd.”

“He knows Haywood isn’t going to get any justice back home,” Geoff said, tucking into his stew again. “Speaking of. Sparky.” He waved his utensil (which was a fork or spoon or straw depending how you held it, and Gavin was going to make a ton of them once he got home) at Michael. “You guys are fucking advanced as dicks.”

“Thank you,” Michael said.

“Shut up. So, if you’re so fancy with your tech and you’ve solved world hunger and have a million year peace or whatever--”

“Not quite a million years,” Michael said.

“ _Shut up_. So what’s with the monarchy? That’s fucking antiquated compared to the rest of it.”

Michael nodded slowly, taking a long drink of his mead before answering. “You know I hate it when you ask me about how my people do things. I was just a warrior--”

“--and you hit things with a hammer,” the three Ramseys said in unison. Gavin broke into peals of laughter. Geoff rolled his eyes.

“I’m a lot less Team Earthling than I was three seconds ago,” Michael groused. “Look, I watched the History Channel. Humans didn’t fare well with monarchies a lot, but that’s because there was no incentive to really _be good people_ and use their power well. There was no authority over it all.”

“But with your monarchy?” Griffon prompted.

“We have the Bifrost.” He jerked his head, indicated the direction of the bridge. “It’s not just… it’s a living thing, and it chooses a family to be its keeper. To rule here where it is strongest. Only our bloodline can access it, which gets interesting when we have to expand outward. But power has shifted before and will do it again if we do not serve well enough.” He smiled, a sad twist of his lips. “It’s why my crime was so severe. I threatened the Burning King’s reign and could’ve caused a massive upheaval.” He lowered his eyes to the table, quieting in more than words.

Gavin always knew Michael carried around his guilt for longer than he should have. He’d grown better at not letting it affect him or hiding the weight of it on his shoulders, but the more time Gavin spent with Michael, the more obvious it was. It was as much a part of him as his freckled skin and the rain that followed him around.

Normally, Gavin didn’t worry too much about it. Michael was always getting better, doing better things. Eventually, he would figure out he wasn’t that reckless young prince anymore.

But now, Michael had to go before his king. And Gavin worried, though he had the good sense not to bring it up yet.

They had their dinner with Geoff and Griffon, and before long the sun was sinking low behind the walls of the Citadel. It grew dark quickly on Oestret Roethe, though the Citadel itself lit up enough to navigate their way back to the spires. Michael led the way back out of the mead district and into the main courtyard, and Gavin kept pace with him, holding Brio’s bassinet to his chest. It was noisy as people poured out of the Citadel, going out for the night, their footsteps a din of music as they went. Gavin was glad for every wall put between himself and them, anything to control the volume.

There were also the wandering eyes. At first, Gavin thought they were looking at Michael, and some were. Many people, though, looked right at him, staring as he walked by. It was unnerving to a serious degree and put Gavin’s teeth to grind.

High in one of the towers, Michael showed Gavin into a room. It was another hexagonal space with an open floor plan, built around the bed at the far end of the room. Up this high, some of the sunset’s light found its way in, running over the bed sheets and their metallic sheen.

Gavin finally let go of Brio and watched as Michael went to a great stone basin against the wall, washing his face.

“People were staring at me,” Gavin said. “Is it because I’m human?”

Michael waited until he was done, dragging his wet hands through his hair to tame his errant curls. “No. They should be used to visiting species.”

“Then why?” Gavin sat heavily on the bed and tugged at the robes he was wearing. The bunches that formed his outfit came loose, swishing around his legs as they settled.

Michael stripped out of his clothes, baring skin in a casual way he hadn’t since they’d returned to Austin. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He hung up his clothes in some sort of narrow box, shutting it with purpose and stretching, naked from head to toe. Gavin would have enjoyed it a lot more if he wasn’t still unsettled.

“That is the worst thing to say to someone who is worried, you daft git,” Gavin said, starting to follow suit. It was hard to figure out which piece of his robes was meant to come off first, so he slipped his head and arms inside, pulling the entire thing off into a mess of knotted cloth. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“You’re ruining a perfectly good set of clothes,” Michael muttered, picking up the mess from the floor and starting to extricate each part of it from the tangle. “It’s Brio. It’s not… common for an egg to be out of the clutch for long. It’s just drawing attention.”

Gavin frowned. “But it’s mine. What do they care?”

“It is yours, and don’t worry about them. No one is going to do anything, they’re just confused.” It took him a solid minute to give up on the robes, sighing and throwing them back on the floor. Instead, he caught Gavin around the waist and propelled them both back onto the bed, curling his body around Gavin’s, hands wide over as much skin as he could reach.

It was weird to think he’d missed this. When Michael was taken, he was gone for a few hours, and Gavin hadn’t lost a night with him, but it felt like it’d been far longer. He hooked his legs through Michael’s, hanging on with everything he had, and relaxed, head on his collarbone.

The windows of the room, narrow and stretching almost from floor to ceiling, were open, and Gavin could hear from outside and all around him the sound of the Citadel, announcing all the the people inside it, every life a beat in an increasingly intricate song. It was lovely, but.

“Does that ever shut up?” Gavin asked. “The Citadel?”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Sun’s just now going down, be patient.”

Gavin decided to watch it, and turned over in Michael’s arms until Michael could spoon against him, hooking his chin on Gavin’s head. It made Gavin feel small, which was a weird thing to enjoy, but Michael was pretty much ninety percent weird things Gavin enjoyed. With the extra long windows, he could see the sun dipping down beyond the valley, vanishing out of view of the little caldera where the amaranths lived. Or maybe they lived beyond the mountains, he didn’t know. He was too busy watching the way the sunlight soared away from the spires around them to ask.

“You’re worried about meeting the King,” Gavin whispered. “I can feel it.”

“Sorry,” Michael said, like the connection between them was something to be apologetic about.

“Don’t be, just tell me why.”

Michael didn’t say anything for a while. His fingers twirled some of Gavin’s hair between them, creating little loops before dragging them loose and doing it over again. He thought Michael wasn’t going to answer before he finally did. “I was never meant to return. I was supposed to die without ever seeing this place again.” He exhaled, warm against Gavin’s ear. “I’ll tell my side, but it’s gonna be the word of a traitor.”

“Mogar was a traitor,” Gavin said. “You’re not.”

“If the King had a nickel for every time someone used the I’m a new person defense, he would have a lot of useless human currency.” He felt more than heard Michael’s chuckle. “Quiet, this is the good part.”

The sun finally finished its descent out of their view, and a wave of silence hit the Citadel. The footstep symphony was gone, and for a while Gavin couldn’t hear anything except Michael’s breathing.

Something did replace it, though. It began softly, and it wasn’t really music. It reminded Gavin of the sound of fine-grained sand falling on metal. Some chimes joined in, woody and intermittent. It made Gavin’s eyes slip to half-mast as he listened. He meant to say something about it, something pithy or clever, but he was warm and safe and the breeze rolling in felt nice against the parts of his skin that Michael wasn’t pressed against, and he fell asleep the second his eyes slid shut.

 

* * *

 

The last time they’d done breakfast in bed was during the Gavin and Michael World Tour when it was easy to call for room service and stay in until the hotel kicked them out. This time, Michael conjured up bowls of soft, round fruits and porous breads filled with a crunchy nutty butter. They sat on the bed, Gavin with a sheet wrapped around him and Michael covered in his tattoos and nothing else. Brio drifted above their heads in the bassinet, which Gavin was _definitely_ going to steal and take home with him when the time came.

“Just bite ‘em,” Michael said when Gavin tried to peel the tough skin of the fruits. “The skin’s good.”

Gavin did, and found the inside to be an icy blue, and tried again to match the alien flavors to what he remembered. Minty blueberries, Gavin decided, though the next one he tried was completely different on the inside and was almost like a lychee. Both had come from the same stem. “Is every one different?”

“Mmhm. Imported by the zephs. The bread’s us though.”

Gavin smiled faintly. “Okay. Who are the zephs?”

“I don’t _have_ to tell you,” Michael said with the beginnings of a sulk in his tone. “It’s fine.”

“Let’s not pretend that these,” he tapped the bracers on Michael’s arms, then idly hooked his fingers in the ring of his cuffs, “aren’t the only things keeping you from flying me around and giving me the grand tour.”

“Still.” Michael chewed through another fruit as he tore a piece of bread into pieces, popping them into his mouth. “Zephyranthene. Geoff calls them the plant people, which isn’t wrong. Probably the latest addition to the bridge network. There was a ton of bad blood between our people. The last ruling family tried to fucking colonize them and they-- the zephs are _amazing_ chemists, okay? Like,” he waved his hands in the air. “They can regulate their diets to make their own blood poisonous so if you fight them and injure them, they take you down with them. It’s incredible. But they poisoned the Bifrost somehow and cut themselves off from here. So the bridge picked a new family to rule, and it was the Burning King’s predecessor that reached out to the zephs again.”

“No hard feelings?” Gavin asked, laying flat on the bed and biting into another fruit. He held it between his teeth, letting the juice trickle past and into his mouth.

“A metric fuckton of hard feelings,” Michael said. “It took ages to repair the damage, but eventually they accepted a new bridge gate and some emigrated. They have a huge embassy beyond the mountains. But they brought their botany knowledge with them and pretty much singlehandedly resolved the lingering hunger problems here and in connected worlds.”

“Nice,” Gavin said.

Michael looked at him, and laughed. “Look, I fucking slept through half of my magic lessons when I was a kid, but I liked the songs they sang to us. History’s great.”

“Of course it is, love,” Gavin soothed. The phenomenally pissy look Michael gave him was worth it, making him squeak with laughter.

Michael pushed the tray of mostly-eaten breakfast off the bed. Gavin stiffened, waiting for the clatter, but no, it floated right off the bed. He didn’t know why that surprised him.

Elbows braced around Gavin’s head, Michael leaned over him. “You’re not taking me seriously,” he intoned gravely.

As charming as Michael’s intimidation tactics were (very charming), Gavin was more taken by the way he’d just put himself up on offer for Gavin. All of his lovely skin on display, Gavin had to touch it, pressing his fingertips into the space under his ribs and dragging them slowly up against the grain of his subtle fuzz.

The heat in Michael’s eyes dialed up instantly. He lowered himself, pressing into Gavin’s hands, letting Gavin touch more. “You’re wearing too much,” he breathed.

“I’m wearing a sheet,” Gavin pointed out.

“Like I said.” Michael tugged it away and caught Gavin’s mouth with his, tongue flicking over the seal of his lips and then in without preamble, nudging Gavin’s mouth open for the taking.

Gavin found the cuffs around Michael’s wrists again and blindly worked his fingers through them, using that grip to lift Michael’s arms up, drawing him down flush against him.

If he was honest, Gavin would admit he’d always been one of those people who thought that familiarity was boring. Long-term relationships were scary not because of the commitment or how they grew bigger and bigger to fill more space in your life, but because Gavin didn’t want the routine. He wanted an exciting life with new things, and the whole _relationship_ thing flew in the face of that. He’d thought Geoff and Griffon were the exception, as they so often were in life.

But then there was _Michael_ , and the way Gavin knew his body as well as his own even though they were aliens to each other. Michael hooking his knee around Gavin’s waist and Gavin hooking his around Michael’s, the wordless communication as they gripped each other in the right places and slid together. Gavin could feel the first eager nudges of Michael’s tendrils, ticklish and greedy as they pulled at him, levering themselves out faster to join the fun.

Things got slick between their bodies quickly, and Gavin turned his head to pant, cool air against his wet lips. Michael’s mouth latched onto his neck with purpose, biting and licking in turns. His hips ground them together with a roughness that Gavin didn’t expect but could _definitely_ get behind.

The first orgasm was tugged out of him; Michael’s tentacles wrapped around his dick and stroked him with a constant pressure that stole the breath from his lungs. He shuddered through it, but recovered quickly, pulling Michael in for another sloppy kiss. Pushing, he urged Michael off him, rolling them until he was straddling Michael’s hips. Hands grasped his hips, but Gavin caught them, pulling them away by the cuffs.

Michael’s eyes got very bright as Gavin held him down and tugged idly at the cuffs. Gavin thought about how they’d yet to use them properly, yet to find the kinds of restraints that Michael couldn’t tear through the moment he forgot himself. Gavin would have to look into something amaranthine, maybe. Surely they would have something that could hold him.

So to speak. Gavin already knew how the amaranths restrained Michael. The circlet around his forehead was still there, standing out against his face. Letting go of Michael’s wrists, Gavin took his chin in hand and leaned down, lips to the band of metal where it pressed cruelly into Michael’s skin. He dotted it with kisses, listening to the way Michael’s breath hitched, his hands returning to Gavin, rubbing slowly up and down the line of his spine.

There were pressing matters, though, and Gavin sat up again. Bracing himself with a hand on Michael’s stomach and his other held firmly in Michael’s, Gavin started to move, circling his hips in a tried and true slick slide of friction between them. Michael’s free hand tucked into the bend of Gavin’s knee, and he worked his hips up in counterpoint to Gavin’s, mouth open as he huffed out breaths and tight, wanting noises.

Gavin had a perfect view of Michael’s lovely face, the flush that stole over his cheeks, nearly covering his freckles, the way his curls started to stick to his forehead as he lifted his hips up under Gavin, the wild brightness of his eyes. It was as lovely now as the first time he’d seen it, though Gavin lost track of things when Michael’s tendrils started to ease into him, startling him into coming for the second time.

His body tensed, legs threatening to cramp as it rolled over him. Michael continued to thrust up against him, his tentacle rubbing up and down the underside of Gavin’s dick until he was spent. When he was able to suck in a much-needed gulp of air next, Gavin’s arms hung heavy, hips just idly rocking back and forth.

Michael still wasn’t done. The hand at Gavin’s knee tightened and lifted, toppling Gavin into a controlled fall onto his back, Michael moving to follow him. He sprawled out, boneless and easy, and shivered as Michael insinuated him close. His tendrils continued to stretch him, three of the little things pulling at him. The rest ground against the soft skin behind his balls, making Gavin curse softly, the leg in Michael’s grip twitching.

Michael was bent over Gavin, attention focused like a laser, watching Gavin’s face with such an unblinking intensity that Gavin shut his eyes. It was almost too much, frantic in a way they hadn’t been since… since the Keys.

Both knees hooked over Michael’s arms, Gavin was held up, back against Michael’s lap. He scrambled to fist his hands in the bed clothes, holding himself still as Michael rolled his hips, working himself slickly in.

Head tossed back, Gavin just took it as Michael fucked him briskly, rhythm fast and devastating as it stretched Gavin open for the bulge of his tentacle. There was no stopping the breathless moans Michael knocked loose in him, half Michael’s name, half dazed encouragement. Held like he was, Gavin couldn't do anything but be fucked, soaking in the sensations.

There was something, though. It took a while for Gavin to figure it out but Michael’s thrusts into him and the almost pained grunts he let out had an intent behind him, and Gavin clawed his way back to coherence as he started to figure it out.

“Michael,” Gavin said, cut off into another groan. Fuck, but it felt _amazing_. “M-- Michael.”

If there was any confirmation he needed, it was the way Michael was a world away from him, moving like a man possessed into Gavin, pushing for deeper and deeper with each push of his tentacle.

It took Gavin spreading his knees outward, off of Michael’s shoulders so he dropped down with an oof against the bed to get Michael’s attention. For a half moment, he looked hurt, lost as he finally opened his eyes to figure out what happened. “Gav?”

Ignoring the fact he could’ve been fucked and good, Gavin sat up, framing Michael’s face with his hands and pulling him in close. “Easy, love. Easy.”

His hands shook as they settled on Gavin, cupping his sides. “Why did you…”

“Because I’m not stupid,” Gavin told him, and kissed his chin to lessen the blow of the words. “S’not really the time for egging me up again, is it?”

Sucking in a breath, Michael hung his head, saying nothing. The guilt practically radiated off him, and Gavin sighed, rubbing his shoulders. He waited for Michael to say something, but his mouth opened a few times only to shut again, his swallowing audible.

Gavin slipped in closer and dragged his hands down Michael’s chest. “Look at me, love,” he commanded, and Michael did, reluctantly.

Kissing him softly, Gavin worked both his hands into the winding bulges of Michael’s tendrils, stroking his thick tentacle with its leaking slick and tangling his fingers in the rest of them. Humming with surprise, Michael came alive under the attention, helping Gavin play with him and coax him off, coming with a gasp into Gavin’s mouth.

Wiping his hands on the sheets, Gavin sat back on his heels, looking at Michael, who wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“I’m not mad at you,” Gavin said, sighing as Michael flinched like he’d been hit. “Michael.”

“I wasn’t thinking. M’sorry,” he mumbled.

“I’m saying _not now_ , you git.” Gavin prodded Michael’s chest with meaning as he went on. “For one, I would like to enjoy being back on my feet for a while first before we think about that. For two, no matter what you think, I’m not letting this king fellow take you away from me.” He smiled when Michael meekly met his gaze. “I’ve gotten very used to getting the things I want.”

“Gavin, this--” Michael put his face into his hands, rubbing brusquely before lowering them back into his lap. “As… as much as I like the sound of that, it’s not going to be up to you and you’ve gotta consider that I might not be coming back with you.” The words were torn out of him, like shards of glass, and he winced as he said them.

Gavin couldn’t conceive of anything that was truly impossible for him. He and his family ate impossible things for breakfast. The deep sorrow that had its claws in Michael, though, was disheartening. “Well, that’s bollocks, but even if it weren’t, we are _not_ doing the sodding thing where you leave me some _one_ to remember you by, asshole. And if you did, how would that go, exactly?” He poked Michael again, determined to logic him into submission. Griffon would be proud of him. “I need you to help me with Brio. How would I do it without you, I don’t know how amaranth babies work.”

“You might have to--”

“ _Michael_ ,” Gavin snapped.

“ _Gavin_ ,” Michael shot back, but immediately dialed down. He let out a long sigh and shifted to the end of the bed, climbing off. “Think about it, okay? I’m going to wash up.”

Gavin watched him at the basin, and with Michael’s back turned, he sagged into himself, trying to ignore the rising worry. It wouldn’t happen. He had lost everything and fought tooth and nail to get it back. No one was going to take it from him again.

 

* * *

 

The noise of the Citadel got to Gavin very quickly.

Michael was showing him around like a particularly overzealous tour guide at the Smithsonian, and Gavin didn’t have the heart to tell him that trying to show Gavin all of his world in just a few days was a really misguided goal. All of the sights were beautiful, but they all sort of blurred together into a sea of red-gold and music.

So much music. They were wandering through the Citadel at midday, and it was full of people, and thus full of noise. Michael got into a habit of projecting his voice over the sound of all the feet and all the ringing tones, but after a few hours Gavin pulled Michael to a stop and put his head against Michael’s shoulder, taking a moment to calm his heart, which had begun to beat with the heartbeat of the Citadel.

“Okay,” Michael said into his ear. “Okay, come on. This way.” He took Gavin’s hand, nudged Brio’s carrier along a new path, and drew them away from the teeming crowds.

It took some walking before the music faded enough to be manageable again, but Gavin was grateful. He’d never been so happy for quiet, and felt the knots in his back loosen. He could still hear all the sounds, of course, but as they walked through the Citadel and out along the back gates, out where the crystal gave way to stone pathways and open space, Gavin could put them out of his mind.

Michael _grew up_ here. How did he stand it? How did the species who moved to Oestret Roethe stand it? If he asked, would they teach him their secrets?

There were no stories or history lessons about this stretch of road. They just walked together, under the shade of leaning trees, past houses and small shops and a few parks littered with people. It was nice, easing something in Gavin’s chest.

Along the road, the small buildings halted suddenly. Instead, there was a high stone wall overgrown with an aggressively spreading ivy with pink blooms, clearly older than any of the other architecture in the area. They walked alongside it, and Gavin watched the flat surface until they came upon an entrance. It was a set of enormous stone doors with a tree carved into the surface. It was enough to pull Gavin to a stop, wanting to get a better look.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a garden. Clutch garden.”

“Like you grew up in?” He ran his hand along the frame, where something was carved in, sharp dancing waves of writing that were the same as the lines worked into Michael’s tattoos. “What’s it like?”

Michael didn’t answer right away, just standing at Gavin’s side with his hand held tight. After thinking about it, he tapped against the entrance, knuckles against the stone, and pulled Gavin back and away. “Just wait a moment.”

It was longer than a moment, long enough Gavin thought nothing was going to happen, but eventually one of the doors swung outward, and an amaranth peered out. They were tall with skin so dark it was nearly black, in emerald robes that hung loose around the shoulders and trailed all the way down to their feet. They wore the vibrant colors well, better than Gavin, who thought they washed him out badly.

“You aren’t allowed here,” they said in a low basso voice to Michael, who was quick to nod in agreement.

“I know. I am sorry to bother you, guardian, but I have a request for my bondmate. They are from a faraway world and would like to see a garden.”

The guardian examined Gavin’s face with such impenetrable severity it seemed etched into their face. Gavin straightened, trying not to blink until they looked away. They spoke again, but in amaranthine and its quick staccato words. Michael answered in the same, and bowed his head respectfully.

He stepped away, to a mossy rock nearby, and sat down. Brio’s bassinet floated to him and he pulled it down onto his lap, hand flat against the surface. “Go on. Be careful and listen to what’s said to you,” he told Gavin.

“Really? I can go in?” He looked to the guardian.

“Briefly,” they answered, and stepped away from the door.

Gavin stood still, waiting, before Michael said, “Go, go, before they change their mind.” It jolted him into motion, and he slipped through the door and inside.

The clutch garden was splayed out in front of him. Rolling hills of green-blue grass centered around a great tree in the center, its branches filled with gleaming bright apples that sparkled in the sunlight. There were other trees with wide canopies of yellow and orange and purple leaves, casting shade across the ground and over a clear, shallow lake. There were, dotted around like flecks of brown paint, little domed houses, spheres set into the ground with round open doorways and colorful woven awnings. There were flowers with giant bulbs planted in spirals around the apple tree, their heads hanging low and filled with muted light.

There were also children. Bright voices and fast feet running around the garden. If they were human, Gavin would have thought they were about six or seven, but he didn’t know enough about how age worked for amaranths to be certain, and Michael wasn’t there to ask. They all wore billowing magenta metalcloth fashioned into skirts and flappy pants. There were two or three dozen of them, some sitting in the grass with apples held in both hands, mouths wet from the big bites they were taking. Others were sitting with their feet in the lake, watching another guardian teach swimming. Others were chasing each other, shrieking in the happy way children did, because some things were apparently universal.

A few of them noticed him, looking with detached curiosity until one of their friends called them or an interesting bug flitted by.

“Will you just be standing there?” the guardian at his side asked, startling Gavin.

Gavin wrapped his arms around himself, feeling disquieted. “Sorry. It’s a lot to take in.”

The guardian nodded and walked away from the gate, gesturing Gavin to follow. He did, cautiously, not wanting to even disturb the grass, feeling bad for smushing it under his sandals.

A few amaranth kids tackled the guardian’s legs as soon as they came close enough, yelling excitedly up at them. The stony expression the guardian wore melted and they bent down, hands light against the children’s shoulders, speaking to them softly.

It left Gavin standing there awkwardly until someone tugged at his pants. He looked down, and an amaranth with dark olive skin grinned up at him and said something. The words didn’t translate though, and Gavin just said, “Sorry, what?” in reply.

The child kept hold of his clothes and pulled him along, away from supervision. “Uhm, ‘scuse me,” he tried to call back to the guardian, but their focus on the children was absolute.

He was pulled over to the great tree before being let go. The child said something to him, and when he didn’t react they reached up their hands, fingers grasping at air, and pointed into the tree.

Gavin looked up. “Oh. You need help getting an apple?” He grabbed one, looking down for confirmation. The child nodded vehemently and stamped their feet.

For being gold and metallic, the skin of the apple still had some give when he twisted it, snapping it free of the stem. Gavin handed it down, and it was snatched from him with a bright yelp that he assumed was a thank you before the kid bolted, running off to the lake.

“You’re welcome,” Gavin called after, then felt silly. Usually the conversations going on around him resolved into English for his ears, but here it was all amaranthine. Allspeak must’ve come along later for the children.

He didn’t quite know what to do or why he was there, except that the garden was very beautiful, and the energy of it was exhausting. He wasn’t alone in thinking that, though; there were, he could see through the doorways, other children in the domes, having little kips.

He tried to imagine Michael here. Or, Kapelle, he supposed. Michael’s freckles and wild hair in a smaller face, running around being a menace.

The guardian returned to him. “You seem troubled,” they asked. Or, didn’t ask. It sounded like they were just pointing out the obvious.

“Do any of them miss their parents?” Gavin asked. “Where I come from, parents raise their children, so it’s a little odd to me.”

“Many parents visit. Some often, like the aupilak, who raise their offspring on their world. Some visit for celebrations. Some, never.” They looked out over the garden and their charges, eyes flicking between all the groups of kids, assessing, vigilant. “They have family here, no matter what.”

Gavin’s throat felt very tight suddenly. “Thank you, for, uh. Showing me. I think I want to go now. If that’s all right.”

They nodded. “The gate will open for you.” And their attention was gone, back to the children, leaving Gavin to make his own exit, trudging back up the hill and through the stone doors. He moved fast, wanting away from the sound. It was always the sound here, wasn’t it?

Michael was still sitting outside, waiting patiently. He looked up when Gavin returned. “Hey-- what?” He stood, walking to Gavin’s side, touching his waist carefully. “Are you okay?”

Gavin shook his head and took Brio from his carrier, holding the egg between his palms, just… needing to feel the perfect shell and see the way the light peeked through his fingers.

“What the hell happened? Gav. Gavin.” Michael cupped his face, thumbs brushing over Gavin’s eyelashes. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing,” Gavin said. “Nothing happened, it was… nice. Really nice.” He breathed in, shakily. “I don’t know, it’s really nothing.”

“It’s not, but fine.” Michael’s arm wound around Gavin, pulling him along. It was slow, but eventually they were walking again, side by side, leaving the garden behind.

For the most part, anyway. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

 

* * *

 

“Come here, quick,” Michael said that evening, after dinner with Jack and Caiti, after they went back to their room. He was standing at the window, looking out at the far horizon.

Gavin joined him in time to see it. The golden gate house at the end of the Bifrost was spinning like a top, faster than his eyes could track. From it, a beam of opalescent light was firing off into the stars, the colors flung out like a corona. The beam pulsed once then, and the light went out, the spinning shell of the gate house slowing down and settling.

“The Burning King returns,” Michael explained softly. “He’ll get caught up on the things he missed and summon me to court. That’ll be… late tomorrow, maybe the day after.”

Gavin watched the gatehouse, caught the procession that emerged from it, a group of people walking down the bridge and into the Citadel. They were too far away to make out any of the details, and Gavin wasn’t sure he wanted to see the face of the king anyway. His bravado in the face of everything was chipping, Michael’s deep pessimism eating away at him. The idea of escaping this place somehow, getting back to Earth and out of the reach of the amaranths was severely tempting.

But Gavin wrapped his long fingers around Michael’s wrist, feeling the cool metal of the bracers there, and knew that wasn’t possible.

Admitting _anything_ wasn’t possible seemed wrong, outside his Ramsey nature. And yet here he was.

“What are you going to say?” Gavin asked.

“The truth, I guess.” Michael shrugged and tipped his head to rest against the window frame. He looked tired, and Gavin hated it. “I might do it through song. That’s customary here.”

Gavin forced a grin. “Get a little Andrew Lloyd Webber with it?”

“There are worse ideas.” His lips curved just barely upward. “But no, old amaranthine probably.”

“I like the sound of that stuff. Better circs, I’d say I were looking forward to it.”

Michael took a deep breath through his nose. “You don’t have to be there.”

“Shut up,” Gavin told him, and he nodded, the issue dropped. Standing there at the window as the procession below came closer was like a knife slowly twisting in his back. He pulled Michael away with him, and to the bed.

It was quiet when they laid down, turned towards each other with an inch between that felt like a chasm. The soft white noise music of the Citadel did its work lulling Gavin towards sleep, but there was a gleam in Michael’s eyes, something sharp that demanded his attention first. It was a struggle to keep awake with his own eyes open, but he managed, watching Michael’s face and waiting.

After a long time, Michael said, “How was the garden? Really?”

Gavin didn’t have the energy to shrug and play down how affected he’d been. “It was very beautiful. And nice. I thought it was like… I don’t know, boarding school. But it’s not.” His scrunched his nose as he thought. “I’m not sure. All the children were happy and running around. I think I was waiting for the other shoe?”

Michael’s eyebrows knit together. “The what?”

“Human phrase. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Means you’re waiting for the catch.”

“Oh. There’s not another shoe. That’s just… how things are done.”

“Mm.” Gavin nodded, not really arguing. It was strange to see and to be assured that things were simply _good_ somewhere, but he didn’t think Michael was lying. It all just felt weird and he didn’t know what he thought of it. He just hummed and reached out, hand against Michael’s arm. Gavin’s fingers ran along the dark lines of his tattoo, following it as it wound around his arm, the span of his fingertips widening and coming together again when the tattoo did. His fingers came to a stop past Michael’s elbow, almost another full rotation around. “It’s longer,” he pointed out in a whisper.

“It’ll keep getting longer,” Michael said. “Brio’ll have them too, you know. Royal blood has them. Living record and all that.”

“Geoff and Griffon will like that. When does it start?”

Michael took Gavin’s hand and lifted it, resettling his hand against the dark swirl at the top of his arm where it met the shoulder. It was nearly black spiral where the tattoo began. “Here. This will be the only mark for a long time. It’s for the egg, for Oestret Roethe, for the garden. Or, for what Brio has instead. It’ll branch down upon taking a first name. That’s when the record really starts. Here.” He rolled onto his back and pulled Gavin in closer before showing his other arm, the one that had been complete from the first day they met. It had that same circular start that cast star-like freckles across his collar, but it ended abruptly in another smaller circle at his elbow.

Gavin touched his fingers against that endpoint. “This is Mogar’s life, then?”

“Basically. Came to an abrupt stop.”

“You’re filling out the other one quickly.”

Michael smiled. “I’ve packed a lot of living into it.” He put his hands on Gavin’s back, touch light. “But it was the one thing that stood out when I was a kid, the start of the tattoo. Brio needs to know it’s normal, okay?”

For a moment, Gavin didn’t know why Michael was telling _him_ , like he would have to handle that. But that was the point, wasn’t it? If Michael’s appeal to the Burning King’s mercy failed, it would be up to him. It’d _all_ be up to him to teach Brio what tentative knowledge he had of the amaranthine. Michael didn’t think he’d be there to do it.

The urge to scream was swelling in Gavin, and he choked it down. He kept his eyes on the dark lines that apparently held every major detail of Michael’s life, right there for all to read. He wished he could, suddenly. His time with Michael was so short compared to the full scope of his life, and Gavin knew such a small part of it.

None of it seemed fair.

“What does it say? Does it decide what’s good and bad or just record it all?” He tapped his fingers against the squiggles that were allegedly words and history. “What’s the best thing here?”

Instead of answering (or maybe answering in his own way), Michael leaned up and kissed him, and Gavin fell forward into it.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, there was no breakfast in bed, much to Gavin’s dismay. Instead, Michael dragged him out of the tower room early, ahead of the crowds, and out of the Citadel. “Griffon said if she doesn’t get to see you, she’s going to kick my ass.”

“She could,” Gavin said mildly. He had a strip of metalcloth in his hands and was folding it into a narrow loop. His hair was getting long, and there were no twist ties to be found on Oestret Roethe (or, Michael never got any in hopes Gavin would just wear his hair down, the selfish thing that he was). Fashioning a quick headband was necessary as the morning sun shone oddly warm down on them. It felt like the entire Citadel had just gotten hotter, a considerable jump from the day before.

Gavin tried not to think about the King, off somewhere in the Citadel, and the possibility that he had something to do with it. That kind of power was a comfort when it came from Michael, but from someone else, it was quietly terrifying.

There was a wide, vaulted saffron tent out in one of the parks, and in its shade sat various people, some folded up on the grass, some on smooth dark stones, and a few half submerged in a nearby pool of water. Griffon was there, on one of the stones. In her hands was a copper tube that split apart like a scroll. She was reading it avidly when they reached her.

“No Geoff today?” Gavin asked, taking one of the seats facing her. As soon as he was settled, he shrugged off the outer layer of his robe, letting it rest in the grass and bent down to mold his pants into capris.

“Hungover.” She smiled. “He’s making friends with one of the meaderies. Lots of talking about alcohol. Lots of consuming alcohol.” She snapped the scroll in her hands shut, back into its little tube.

“I’m going to very carefully not ask if you stole that,” Michael said, nodding to her toy.

“Bite your tongue, Jones. It was a gift from Thae. She has high hopes for me figuring out how to apply Earth technology to amaranthine ideas.” There was a brilliantly happy look on her face, discovery and excitement gleaming in her eyes and the curve of her lips. It was good to see, but Gavin felt... distracted, and her enthusiasm wasn’t as contagious as it usually was.

There was something heavier than the humidity hanging in the air, making the conversation feel stilted and false to him. Michael kept things going well on his own, though, as he and Griffon talked about the meat pie things they were eating and the cuisine they came from (more alien stuff Gavin couldn’t be arsed with today) and about the forges. Gavin ate quietly for the most part, nodding and humming along to make it seem like he was listening.

His mind was elsewhere.

After a big breakfast with sweet water and meat pasties and more of those round fruits, Griffon headed off in a rush. There was a familiar sense of purpose to her stride, and it usually carried her directly to the labs or to RE HQ to work on a project. Often, Gavin would trail right after her.

Instead, he and Michael sat under the canopy for a while, drinking more and not really speaking.

Gavin could feel Michael’s eyes on the side of his face and tried very hard not to give into the urge to turn.

“Do you want…” Michael stopped, and Gavin still didn’t meet his gaze, not wanting to handle whatever he might find there. “Do you want to go anywhere? I can show you the observatory, it won’t be busy this time of day. Or…” He let out a tense sigh. “We can head back up if you want. That’s okay, you know.”

“How are gardens picked for the eggs?” Gavin asked, looking at his hands in his lap.

“What?” There was a beat of silent confusion. “Uh. It’s just… time based. They’ll have two or three gardens open to accept eggs, and as soon as one fills up, another opens. It’s not really complicated…”

“No, but how?”

“Placement nursery. Why?”

Gavin stood up, wrapping his spare robe over his arm. He reached up to nudge the little bassinet that circled around him. Around him, he could see it drawing attention, the people of Oestret Roethe staring at him.

“This whole garden thing,” Gavin said, “sounds too good to be true. I want to see one of these nurseries.”

Michael looked perplexed, frowning at Gavin. “You’re-- Gavin, you seem kind of fixated on this garden thing.”

“You keep telling me that I might have to be the one to raise Brio,” he hissed back, pulling Brio from the carrier so he could hold the egg in his hands. If he wasn’t fooling himself, he would think it was a little bigger today. The thought terrified him, restless fear deep in his chest. “Please, Michael, I need to see.”

Michael didn’t look convinced. More than anything, he looked unhappy, unsettled. But, he stood, settling his hand against Gavin’s back. “Come on,” he murmured, and lead him away.

The nursery was in the Citadel itself, on a mid-level of the central tower. It was an enormous arena that took up the entire split-level floor. Around the walls, there was a top level that hung over and looked down on the middle. Below, there were amaranths and a few tall weedy zephyranths dressed in uniform blue-green walking between great round baskets dotted with eggs. The eggs were every color Gavin could imagine, dark ruby hues and mauve with gold streaks and matte brown-blues.

Gavin tucked Brio back into the carrier before leaning over the balcony, looking down on it all.

Michael stayed with him, so close Gavin could’ve tripped over him if he wasn’t careful. He rested his hand on the railing next to Gavin’s and pressed against his back, angled around him. The back of his fingers ran up and down Gavin’s arm. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

Gavin watched for a moment. The nurses moved between the baskets, some pushing bassinets not unlike his. A few were humming, melodic and low, and the eggs around them lit up, their glow brightening in response. “Why do they do that?” Gavin whispered.

“I don’t know. They just do.”

Gavin lifted his eyes away from the lower floor and looked around him. There were families on this level, groups of people, some partners and some threesomes and a few even larger groups. He could see amaranths and zephyranths and a few of the tall verva. There were also those thickly furred beings with strong legs and what Gavin was pretty sure were tails under their robes. He remembered the guardian of the garden mentioning the aupilak, perhaps them.

No one seemed upset, he noticed. Not like him. There were a few teary faces, but none of the sort of soul-crushing uncertainty that had seized him.

Michael squeezed his elbow. “Gav. We should go. Someone’s going to think we’re here to drop off Brio.”

“I know,” Gavin replied.

He felt the blow land on Michael, the heavy weight of two words stunning him.

Instead of waiting, Gavin broke away from Michael and walked up to the first group of parents he could reach. The familiar face of an amaranth, like him but much darker in skin and rounder about their face and mouth, turned to him. He was with a zephyranth, with their strange colorfully flushed faces, the rapid shift from bottle blue to a greener hue as she spotted him approaching. Michael had said it was rude to stare at the colors on a zephyranth’s face, that they were linked to their emotions, but it was hard not to wonder what that shift meant. “Excuse me, can I bother you a second?”

The couple regarded him carefully. “Yes? Can we help you?” the amaranth asked.

“Not-- Not you, actually, I’m sorry.” He looked the zephyranth in the eyes, hoping that wasn’t rude or something. She went a bit greener, which would’ve been interesting if Gavin cared at the moment. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded slowly. “You may.”

“Are you scared? To let your egg go?” His hands worked uselessly in the air before he crossed his arms, hands tucked away. “Do you ever think you should keep them?”

“Why would we think that?” the amaranth asked, sounding perplexed.

“Ignore him, he’s not a transplant. He doesn’t understand,” she said, and instantly Gavin felt calmer. Someone who got it. “I did for the first one, Senima. I wanted to take her back to my world, to my clan, but,” she frowned a little. “I swore that the moment Senima seemed unhappy in the clutch, I was going to remove her and take her home, but every time I visited…”

“She was fine?”

“She was _perfect_.” There was such strength to the joy there, she seemed embarrassed for a moment. “And, really, growing up away from the politics of my homeland was probably best. I visited often, though, to be certain.”

“Okay,” Gavin said, nodding along. There was relief and anxiety warring in him now, like seasickness. “Thank you, then, sorry to bother you.”

The zephyranth’s face settled back to a calm light blue and she inclined her head to him. “Of course. I won’t tell you not to worry, because you will, but good luck.”

The couple left him there, standing awkwardly amid the families.

It was the hardest thing, to look at Michael.

Michael was waiting for him and joined him as soon as he turned, nudging Brio along with him and shooting a quelling look to a nurse who dared to hover too close. “Gav. Let’s go.”

“No.”

“Gavin, you can _keep_ Brio, it’s fine. Humans do things differently and that’s fine, I know I was an asshole about it before, but it’s really fine.”

“It’s not about that, you dingus,” Gavin told him, stepping close and cupping Michael’s neck, thumbs tracing the line of his chin. “You might be taken away from me.” Michael shut his eyes tightly, opened his mouth, but Gavin went on because for the love of god, he was trying to not be selfish for a moment and Michael wasn’t making it easy. “What if that happens, what if I lose you? I don’t know about raising children, let alone an amaranth.” He leaned in, touching his face to Michael’s, foreheads together. “What if you’re not there, and they’re alone on Earth, no one to teach them about flying or whatever affinities are?”

“You still--” Michael’s hands wrapped around Gavin’s wrists, holding on in a desperate grip. “You’ll have Geoff and Griffon. You’ll do your best and you’ll-- _love_ them, that’s the important thing, Gavin, that’s why we have the gardens, not the rest of the bullshit.”

The breath he took then rattled through him. “And how old were you before you were an adult, Michael?”

Michael pressed his head against Gavin’s more. “Don’t.”

“You were, what? Seventy? What were you in human years before you took your name and all?” He smiled, watery. “You want to think about how that would work on Earth with a human father and human grans, Michael?”

“There’s--” Michael shook, hard, and clutched Gavin closer, voice softer. “There’s no garden apples on Earth, they might not live that long--”

“So you want me to let them die young because I--”

“ _Gavin_ ,” Michael croaked out, ducking his head away.

Tangling his fingers up and into Michael’s hair was the only easy thing about it all. Gavin lay his head on top of Michael’s, petting his curls. “Do you think that’s best?” he asked. “Keeping Brio?”

Michael’s breath hitched, and Gavin was almost certain he was crying. Gavin felt like it himself, but he had to do this first. He had to get this right. It was unfair and cruel and he wanted to take Michael and Brio and somehow _run_ , sneak away across the Bifrost back home or anywhere else and do it their way instead.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He’d had the idea of children sprung on him, but he’d rolled with it and let himself grow that way. It had been the hardest thing, to let himself be excited about having a tiny person in his care. He’d still been a teenager just a few years ago, so out of his depth when it came to having a relationship or compromising or being a fucking _adult_.

Now, Gavin thought, the younger him had had the right idea. Because this? This was agony. Becoming an adult was the worst thing he’d ever done.

He was so focused on Michael and on not joining him in his tears that the humming startled him. He looked up and there was a nurse, humming quietly as they drifted towards Brio.

As they did, Brio’s shell bloomed with light, matching the tune.

Michael lifted his head, started to say, “No, wait--”

Gavin wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders. “Please. Go on.”

The nurse nodded and said nothing to them, only continuing their soft melody. They stood over the bassinet, just going on at Brio until the egg was bright as the ones down in the nursery. It was beautiful, the glow reminding Gavin of his necklace, the way it burst into opal color when Michael was with him, warm and hidden under his shirt collar and under bedsheets or just against his skin.

Gavin thought maybe this was some sort of balancing act. He’d gotten so lucky when he was younger when he met Geoff and Griffon and everything that had come from them. Now, it felt like everything was slipping away.

Gavin and Michael stood there as the nurse took the bassinet away, disappearing down a set of stairs to the lower level. Leaning on the balcony, they watched as Brio was placed into one of the large groups of eggs, into their clutch.

Michael’s voice was tight as he said, “I know that garden. It’s near the Citadel. My brother Coda grew up there.”

Gavin’s strength went out of him like a light being flicked off. “Can we go now? I need to…”

“Okay,” Michael said, curling his hand around Gavin’s waist and leading him away.

 

* * *

 

As they walked back, the Citadel was brimming with its song, and it took all of Gavin’s strength and willpower to wait until they got back to their room before yelling, “Can’t this sodding place just shut the fuck up?!” He pressed his hands over his ears, eyes tightly shut, because it was all just too much, it felt like it was everywhere, vibrating through him like a tuning fork. It hurt as he stumbled forward and into the corner of the bed frame.

As he slumped down to the floor, Michael was there to lower him carefully down. He sat on the unforgiving tile, and it all crashed into him at once.

He’d let Brio go, even though it meant he might never meet them. He’d fucking defended Brio from Narvaroth’s genocidal scheme and nearly got himself killed in the process, and he’d let Brio go.

He might have to let Michael go too. No, Michael would be _taken_ from him, like Caleb had taken Brio from him, like his necklace, like Griffon and Geoff. All of the things he had, picked off one by one, and maybe he had Geoff and Griffon back now, but the fear and anger and worry was still in his system, all his little tragedies building up in his chest until he leaned forward, bent over, and _keened_.

He’d never cried like this before. Really, the times he’d cried could be counted on one hand and this-- this didn’t feel like crying, it felt like a fucking exorcism. He could barely breathe through the sobs, his face hot and wet in the worst way.

It wasn’t fucking fair. Everything was being taken from him and it just wasn’t fucking fair.

For a moment, he thought about not meeting Michael. Maybe in another life, they didn’t orbit around each other until they crashed together. It might’ve been easier, but the thought of not having Michael just made Gavin’s shoulders shake harder, breaths coming in hiccuping gasps.

Michael sat with him, making soothing noises and holding him tight and rocking them together.

In a moment of clarity, Gavin reached up and grabbed Michael’s face, kissing him messily, without direction, before mumbling into his lips, “I don’t want you to go.”

Michael pulled Gavin closer until he was practically in Michael’s lap, their legs locked together, uncomfortable but still not close enough. He kept rocking them, and eventually said in a choked whisper, “I don’t want to go.”

 

* * *

 

Gavin slept through dinner and into the night because the sort of shoulder-wracking sobs he’d gone through left him exhausted. He slept fitfully, coming awake in random starts through the night. Each time, he reached back and made sure Michael was still there pressed against him before sleeping again.

One time, though, he reached back and Michael wasn’t there. Gavin sat up, heart rate jumping as panic took him, but there was pale light from the sunrise beginning to fill the room, and he could see Michael standing at the door, talking to someone.

“When?”

“First session,” whoever he was speaking to said. “An escort will come for you.”

“For us,” Michael corrected.

“Your Highness--”

“See you at first session.” Michael let the door close, two wings of dark wood coming together from the doorframe. It wasn’t as satisfying as slamming a door in someone’s face, but the effect was the same.

He turned and saw Gavin awake, but said nothing, just crawling back in with him and tucking in close. “We have time,” he murmured.

Gavin wanted to use it better, to say something like, _we’re not going to spend it sleeping_ , but he was so tired and Michael was still warm. Gavin laid his head against Michael’s shoulder and slipped away again.

It had to be a few hours later when Michael nudged Gavin awake at last. “Babe, time to wake up,” he said into Gavin’s ear, one hand cupped around Gavin’s hip, the other running through the hair on his chest. Gavin mumbled indistinctly and lay there, letting Michael touch him all over until he’d had his fill.

“What if I wanted to just stay here forever, hm?”

“Well, then I guess we’d have to tell the King that we’re sorry but you wanted to stay in bed and we couldn’t make it to the high court today.” He kissed Gavin, then nipped his chin before rolling out of bed. “Come on, we need to get ready.”

Right. Judgement day. Gavin rubbed his face, amazed that even with the ridiculous amount of sleep he’d gotten, he was still tired, still shaky. There was, in his mind, a fenced off area, a part he couldn’t look at, couldn’t think about if he was going to make it through today. Tomorrow, he’d cry more and continue railing against the unfair shambles of his life, but today there was fruit pastry treats to eat and he needed a proper shower.

“What do people here do for washing up?” he asked as he climbed out of bed. “Besides your little basin jobbie.”

“I’ll show you. You’re gonna be really disappointed though,” Michael said. He pulled a large disc that had been hanging on the wall down, setting it on the ground.

“I thought that was some arty thing.”

“Nah, it’s a bathing round. Step in.”

Gavin did, gingerly, and Michael filled a jug of water from the basin and said, “Hold still, it’ll take care of everything,” before pouring it over Gavin’s head.

It was warm, though not the sort of luxurious heat that Gavin preferred from his showers. The water ran over him, pinged against the disc, and bounced back into him with some force. The water somehow didn’t fly away from the disc, just ran over him in some weird backwards shower. Michael refilled his jug, added some powdery soap to it, and poured that over him too.

At the end of it, Gavin felt clean, but unfulfilled. Michael was right, it was disappointing. “That was a bit crap,” he said.

“I know. Humans have _definitely_ got us beat there.” He helped Gavin step out, and there was no water clinging to him, which was odd but useful. No showers, and no fluffy towels, though. What a sad way to live.

Gavin ate while Michael did away with the washing things. He puttered around the room, picking out robes from the storage spaces built into the walls, and pulling out a long dark box to set on the bed. When Gavin was done, he dressed him in metalcloth the color of seafoam with a dark outer robe. He even dropped to his knees to form the bunches at Gavin’s hips.

“What are you doing?” Gavin asked, hands on Michael’s shoulders.

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Michael demurred, getting up when he was finally satisfied with how the clothes hung around Gavin. He pulled over a squat cushioned chair and pushed Gavin to sit in it. “Hang on.”

Gavin didn’t really care what he looked like for what was coming. There was too much else to think about, like what was actually going to _happen_ today. Michael’s fussing over him wasn’t unprecedented, but it didn’t really seem like the time.

Michael combed Gavin’s hair back, and it felt so nice, Gavin didn’t complain. Blunt fingers pulling it all away from his face was soothing, and Michael’s attention was Gavin’s greatest addiction. He felt Michael form a ponytail at the back of his head, cinching it into place with something metal and pronged. It held fast, and Michael turned to the bed, opening the box he’d left there.

Gavin turned to look and snorted. “Geoff will kill you.”

“Geoff won’t see it,” Michael said, picking out a stem of some hanging flower with interesting bioluminescence and spearing it carefully through the base of his ponytail. “And not everyone can get ahold of fine zephyranthene flora, so give me some credit here.”

“What’s it for?” Gavin asked, watching in the shiny red mirror of the wall as Michael arranged little pretty things in his hair, trying not to feel ridiculous. He wasn’t about to tell Michael no over something like this; not today.

Michael shrugged and kept at it. A few he threaded into Gavin’s hair, flat against his skull, but most formed a wreath around the ponytail. It was nice, though Gavin wasn’t sure how much it suited him. He was mostly concerning himself about the why-- they could’ve used this time for one last good fuck or for Michael to tell him more of the history writ on his arms or, bollocks, just looking at each other, _something_.

“Is this…” He inhaled hard. “Is this something about making me the last thing you see and you want me to look good for it?”

Michael shook his head. “Shit, no. No, it’s not that.” He tugged lightly at Gavin’s hair. “You’re going to meet my father.”

Oh. Somehow, Gavin had forgotten about that, forgotten that the Burning King who ruled Oestret Roethe and the Bifrost was Michael’s father.

 _Oh_.

Gavin nodded, and left Michael to it without complaint. Eventually, he was pretty enough, and Michael went to see to himself. He took his Earth clothes from the cleaning closet thing the room had and pulled it all on. At Gavin’s questioning glance, he said, “I am going to stand before the King as Michael Jones, not Mogar.”

“Good,” Gavin said. “From what I’ve heard, Mogar was a bit of a prick.”

Michael laughed, and Gavin had almost forgotten the sound. “Let’s hope I’m an improvement then.” He took Gavin’s hands, pulled him up, and kissed him. “Time to go.”

 

* * *

 

Here is the thing about fire:

It doesn’t look like it does in the movies.

Fire, in the light of day, is practically invisible. It’s nothing but the faint idea of flickering orange-yellow-red. Unless they were looking for it, someone could completely miss it, not even noticing it was there.

The point is, when the Burning King stood in the middle of the grand hall that held the high court, Gavin thought he could be forgiven for being underwhelmed, for thinking him unremarkable in the same way most people thought Michael was.

The King was a startling tall man, broad across the shoulders with the sort of face Gavin couldn’t help but think of as kind. He had dark hair that curled more messily than his son’s, poofy around his hairline, but coming down into a well-kept beard around a wide mouth.

Unremarkable until a cloud passed over the sun and a shadow fell over the King, revealing the crown of flames curved along his brow.

The King’s gaze fell heavily on Gavin as he walked in, the weight so sudden it almost tripped him as he tried to keep walking as his instincts told him to freeze like a deer in the headlights. “Who is this stranger in my court?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly through the hall.

Michael gripped Gavin’s hand and stilled. “Gavin Ramsey-Free of Earth. He’s my bondmate and has right.”

The King’s eyebrows lifted. “I asked for his identity, not threatened to remove him.” Brown gem-like eyes, the same amber hue that Michael had, flicked to Gavin. “Welcome to Oestret Roethe, Gavin. I hope you’ve enjoyed our hospitality during your stay.”

He really had nothing to lose, and the idea was so _ludicrous_ , Gavin laughed hollowly. “Yeah, no, it’s been _great_ ,” he said with thick sarcasm, and reveling in the surprised blink the King gave.

“Oh my god,” Michael muttered, taking Gavin by the elbow and leading him to the stands along the wall. The grand hall was… grand. It was a cavernous room with lofty vaulted ceilings and expansive windows overlooking the rest of the Citadel and its outlying areas. There was, at the far end of the room, a set of proper thrones, two equal in size and shape made of the same pale rainbow substance the Bifrost was. There was a woman sitting in one, her leg crossed over her knee. She had strawberry blonde hair and a very keen look to her face as she looked around the room critically. “Queen Jinx,” Michael whispered when he saw Gavin looking. “My mother.”

Against the walls framing the room were heavy wooden stands, almost filled with people. “Court members. Come on, there should be space here.” He lead Gavin to one, holding his hand as he stepped up and took his seat.

Gavin turned back to Michael, squeezing their clasped hands tight. “I love you, Michael.”

Michael smiled and kissed Gavin’s knuckles. “I know. I love you too.” He lingered like that, staring up at Gavin like he was something worthwhile. His lips brushed against Gavin’s skin as he said. “It was you, you know. You’re the best thing.”

Gavin thought about his name written somewhere on Michael’s skin and his throat closed around whatever he was going to say next. Too much, and yet nothing more than a fucking consolation prize if he was about to lose Michael.

He settled in, watching Michael walk away to the middle of the room to kneel down before the King.

The King was quiet, patient as the room came into order. People filed into their seats, trading a few pleasantries, but keeping mostly quiet. There was a severe air to the room, with many people staring at Michael with hard faces. It was difficult for Gavin to remember that the last any of them had seen of Michael was when he was Mogar, after he almost destroyed part of the Bifrost. Being here, having seen the world that Mogar had betrayed, he thought he understood better now what a crime that was.

Gavin expected someone to step out to read a scroll with a list of Michael’s alleged crimes or to announce his royal highness the king of all things or something, but the King just looked down at Michael and said, “I get the idea. You don’t have to remain kneeling.”

Michael remained where he was, just lifted his head out of his bow to meet the King’s eyes. “But I will.”

With an oddly warm smile, the King shook his head. “Oh, Mogar. Still stubborn, I see.”

“That is not my name,” Michael said, his voice pitched louder. It was a declaration, to all the people listening. “If I am to die, let it be with my true name.”

Rocking back on his heels, the King started to move, taking a few careful steps around Michael. “I didn’t say anything about dying yet, but all right. What is your name then?”

“Michael Jones.” It was eerily quiet in the hall, and Michael’s shoulders twitched, half turning to look at where the King was pacing around him before he stopped, taking a breath. “I took it to fit into Earth’s people and kept it after I stopped being Mogar.”

“That,” the King said, “is a bold claim. But it sounds like an interesting story, Michael Jones.”

It was a prompt, a starting point and this… wasn’t like any courtroom that Gavin had seen in movies or TV. The King moved around Michael, and Gavin thought he was a little restless, too much energy in his body to stand still. It wasn’t what he expected from a king. He seemed like an actual person, for one.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on that, though.

Michael sang often, in the shower or with the radio or, when he was drunk, soft and mournful as he soaked in old memories. Gavin had heard it before, but not like this.

The idea of singing his case to the King stopped being funny once Michael started. There was, at first, a slow swell of words, just the sound of it. Gavin realized that he couldn’t understand them, that Michael’s Allspeak wasn’t translating it for him. But he could feel it anyway.

Listening to Michael sing about falling, because that was obviously what he was singing about though Gavin didn’t know _why_ , was hard. It was low and tense, a simmering anger that rose in sharp syllables and phrases. Michael’s eyes were shut tight and his hands were fisted in his lap as he told the story of his first months on Earth. Gavin had heard it before, but in passing, the loneliness and the desperate tantrums that slammed unseasonal storms into the eastern seaboard, and the quiet.

Everyone listened, attentive, but Gavin could barely stand it, how _broken down_ Michael sounded. It was before they’d met and that should’ve mattered, but it still hurt to hear the extent of what bad shape Michael had been in when he’d started to rebuild.

Something leveled out, the angry biting words smoothed over. Michael glanced across the room, meeting Gavin’s eyes for a brief second before shutting them again. His song was still mournful and lonely, begging for music to bolster it, but there was a new quality to it. Something longing.

The King stopped his pacing and turned, looking at Gavin. The man’s eyes were like Michael’s, but hotter, and looking into them was like staring at the sun. It hurt, but Gavin didn’t even blink. The hall was full of Michael’s voice, the texture of it hitting Gavin as Michael sang about more familiar things, about their tense meeting and the friendship they negotiated. He could hear the soft hopefulness in Michael’s voice and bit his lip hard, trying not to smile. He was being stared down by the King and thus by most of the room, but he _remembered_ the awkward conversations, the day Michael gave him the Bifrost chunk, and hot summer days before the Iron Man Project went public. Simpler times.

The King nodded, and looked away, and Gavin took a breath for the first time in too long, his fingers tingling.

There was hesitation here. Michael’s voice almost faltered, thready and uncertain. Gavin wasn’t sure why until the _anger_ came back. Michael practically fired sharp syllables like they were bullets, and Narvaroth was obvious in the story being painted. Gavin could easily recall the broken glass and the weightlessness of being thrown across his lab and the war drums of thunder that accompanied the brawl between Michael and Narvaroth.

The King was watching Michael now, his back to Gavin, and not being able to see his expression was killing him.

It calmed with the sudden deafening echo of thunder too. Michael’s voice quieted and became so soft, so lilting, that Gavin felt his face flush. Reliving that duality, seeing Michael the God of Storms and then Michael, the curly haired boy who went out of his way to make Gavin laugh and who stared a little too long without blinking-- God, he hoped Michael wasn’t saying too much, not in front of his _father_ , because it sure sounded intimate in a way that made Gavin shift in his seat and avert his gaze from anyone who looked at him.

At least he looked nice. That was its own shield and he needed it then.

Michael stopped for a moment, long enough to take a few deep breaths and cast a questioning look up at the King.

The King nodded, saying nothing.

So Michael went on.

There was that longing again, but stronger this time. It dominated Michael’s voice, the twin threads of wanting and the guilt of that wanting. It stung Gavin to hear. He’d known at the time, how Michael had wanted him, not just for his short Austin visits for for longer, but never how that want ate at him. Even now, years later, after two years and change of all their travel together, Gavin felt a pang at how torn between happiness and misery Michael had been, the two emotions in conflict as he sang, spots of brightness amid the lower, pained tones.

If Gavin were the type to sing his own history like Michael, it would sound the same, though. The good moments spread amid all the confusion and conflict. He’d wanted it all, to stay safe, to stick to his routines, to have Michael, to be a good son for Griffon, and the stress of it all was too much.

He was relieved when Michael’s voice lifted, high like it was coming from the pointed roof and not the man still knelt on the floor. The song seemed to fold in on itself, and if there was more echo in the hall, Michael could’ve been his own harmony. As it was, it was warm and comfortable, the depth of his vowels lengthening until Gavin was almost swaying along, remember cities and hotel rooms and oceans and snow.

There was another pause, but Michael continued without prompt. Here, his voice soared, the intensity palpable, the power and volume picking up. Here, it was complicated, with moments of joy flanked by downward spiraling uncertainty and back up again. The fucking rollercoaster the last few months of their lives had been.

 _Brio_ , Gavin thought, and for a moment covered his face, trying to get it together. He’d _already_ cried, for fuck’s sake, now wasn’t the time.

But in the last moments, Michael’s voice returned almost to the beginning, that mournful sound again, all the regret and sorrow layered into him. There was no anger, all of it gone. Traces of what used to be so much of him.

The end was sudden and sharp, like Michael had at last run out of breath. His head was bowed, not reverent to the King as much as just tired. Gavin knew the feeling. After so long, it was strange to hear him speak, and even stranger to understand what he was saying.

“King, Queen, court… Father,” Michael murmured, and Gavin startled to hear him address the King that way. “I can only ask you to believe me. I know the severity of what I did, of Mogar’s actions. I understand them and I--” he shook his head, exhaling hard through his nose. “I have _tried_ to be better. Can’t say how well I’ve done, but...”

“You packed a lot of life into a short time,” the King said, voice so bland and giving away so few hints, Gavin thought he’d strain himself trying to get a read on him, trying to understand what the King thought. There was nothing to go off.

Michael nodded. “I have. I had to. I didn’t want to be Mogar anymore, so…” he looked up at the King. “I would like the chance to put more good into the universe than I took out of it when I was young and foolish, father.”

The King said nothing, but turned to the thrones, where the Queen sat. She quirked her eyebrow, but also said nothing. It reminded him of Geoff and Griffon, of their weird moments of silent communication. With the Ramseys, it was endearing. With the King and Queen, it made Gavin want to scream at them to _say something_ , for god’s sake.

Michael was in a similar state, looking between them with a pinched expression. “I didn’t mean to break my exile,” he appealed. “It was beyond my control. I would have _never_ seen this realm again if it were up to me, but it was Narvaroth’s scheme.”

“Which was thwarted by…” The King regarded Gavin again. “You, Gavin.”

Gavin shot a look at Michael, unsure if he was supposed to respond. Michael nodded quickly. “I, uh, I guess, yes. I hit him in the head.”

The King might’ve smiled then. It was hard to tell with how he ducked his head and turned away, such a Michael thing to do that the resemblance between the two grew even more.

But then, a sentence fell with all the finality of a guillotine: “You are not my son.”

The panic that lanced through Gavin was so strong, it froze him. He wanted to leap over the wall and grab Michael, or cover him bodily to protect him or something. He didn’t know how amaranthine justice was dealt out, only that it wasn’t justice and he couldn’t lose Michael now, hadn’t the King _listened at all_?

But the King went on: “I made an error. Prince Mogar committed an act of treason against the Bifrost that keeps us all and connects us and allows us to thrive. For his crimes, I should have killed him.” He shook his head. “But I was sentimental.”

 _No, no, no, no_ , Gavin’s mind screamed, but Michael-- sat there. Still knelt, still watching the King, looking perplexed.

“I let Mogar go and instead cast him and his conspirator down to a defenseless world, content in the knowledge he was alive.” The King looked at Gavin. “I gave no thought to whatever realm Mogar and Navaroth fell to. Your world.” There was that funny smile again, too candid for a king’s face. “I’ve spoken to your Captain Haywood. It was a humbling thing.” To the room at large, he declared, “These visitors to Oestret Roethe have worried many of you, but they are my fault.

“But the man knelt here.” He circled around to face Michael, staring down at him. “He’s not my son. He is, in fact, the person who carried out the sentence I could not. You are Michael Jones, the slayer of Prince Mogar. There is blood on your hands that should have been on mine, and for that I am in your debt.” His smile widened, and the air in the room seemed warmer. “Ask me for your life and I will give it to you.”

There wasn’t a reaction from the court, which threw Gavin. Was that good? Did they win? He barely wanted to hope, just leaned in anxiously, waiting for the other shoe, for the catch, for it all to go wrong. But Michael sagged back on his heels, head tipped up. He looked tired, but he started to smile.

Balls to it. “Okay, sorry for the daft question, but that’s good, right?” Gavin asked out loud. “It’s okay? Michael’s safe?”

The grin the King gave him was almost electric, but Michael-- Michael was on his feet in one smooth roll, darting up from the floor and to Gavin. He leaned over the railing and Gavin met him halfway. “We’re good. I’m okay. It’s going to be okay,” Michael said, pulling Gavin in to hold him, clutching him tight to his chest.

“Thank fuck for that,” Gavin said, voice wobbly as relief crashed into him. He held on, unwilling to let Michael go in case someone _else_ tried to take him away.

That wasn’t going to happen. Michael was going home with him. Everything was going to be all right.

Finally.

 

* * *

There were some shocked looks and glares from the courtly people as they filed out of the hall, but frankly Gavin couldn’t give less of a damn. He’d never see them again, he didn’t care what they thought of Michael, he didn’t want their opinions on any of it.

Gavin ignored them, instead tracing his fingers along Michael’s tattoo. It was growing, right before his eyes, the thin line widening. He watched it, waiting for it to go on, like it could tell him ahead of time what was in store for them. That it was still going, a work in progress, was all Gavin cared about.

Across the room, the King asked, “How many more court sessions are on the docket today?”

The Queen stood, reaching up to pat the King’s cheek before giving him a swift kiss. “Advisors want to discuss the Earth situation. Tomorrow is Narvaroth’s appeal and the humans want us to deal with Captain Haywood’s crimes.”

“That’s going to be fun,” the King said, scratching at his beard. “We have time for lunch before the advisor thing, right?”

She snorted, indelicate and honest. “Yes. I’ll have someone bring up some food.” Her eyes slid past the King’s shoulder, to Gavin and Michael, and Gavin’s heart skipped a beat. Should they have left already? “Go see to them.” She pushed the King and swept out of the room, head held high and regal in a way that was mostly missing from the King.

With just the three of them remaining in the call, the King zeroed in, striding over with long steps. “So, Gavin, what was that about our hospitality?”

“Erm.” Gavin’s tongue went clumsy in his mouth. The King was very tall, and looked at him kindly, but still managed to be intimidating. A squeak eeked out of his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Michael muttered. “Our stay has been fine, but there’s been a lot of things happening, and it’s been rough, f-- sire.”

“Brio,” Gavin said, managing to get that much out. “We had Brio, and-- I thought I’d lose Michael, so I gave Brio to the nursery people.” He trailed off as the King’s face _glowed_ , not literally but very close to it.

“Brio. Brio is a good name,” he said, beaming. “Understandable, I’m sorry for your worry. That does bring up an interesting conundrum though. Thanks to my actions and the work of this Captain Haywood, our people are connected.” He put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and Michael gave it a shocked glance. “Michael is not banished like Mogar was and may come and go as he pleases. As may you, as a parent to a garden child.” He made a contemplative noise, rubbing his beard again. “We may need to see about a Bifrost gate on your world to facilitate travel… I would like to see a world that produced a person like you.”

Gavin felt his face grow hot and wondered if the King was flirting with him or if he was just really misreading things. Michael frowned, though, and the King laughed.

“Gardens are sealed until all of the clutch has hatched, but you can see Brio whenever you please after that point, and if you decided to remove them, raise them on Earth, then we will of course allow that,” the King went on. “Same goes for any other children you have.”

“Sire,” Michael started.

“If you think I am not going to give your siblings word that you’ve had a child, you don’t remember me very well, Michael,” the King chided. “Wait until they hear our youngest beat them to the egg cycle. Speaking of, I would like rights to see Brio if you’ll permit it.”

“What? Why?” Gavin asked, startled.

“Michael understands this already. He is no longer officially part of this royal family. His title has been stripped from him and died with his old name. But he’s still my son, and I’ve not had any children to dote on since I had him.” He bowed his head to Gavin. “If you refuse, I will understand.”

The King was asking him if he could, what, be Brio’s grandfather? That was-- Gavin wondered if he married into royalty. Well, not married, obviously, but the closest thing. Everything seemed impenetrably confusing in his head. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, it was crowding in his brain. He needed to process it all still. Only the big details stood out, that Brio was safe, that Michael wasn’t going anywhere, that they could go home and return. “Can I think about it? Sorry, it’s been a right bastard of a week.”

The King nodded. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. Oh, Michael, here.” He reached out, took Michael’s wrists in his hands, and the bracers around his forearms darkened, then curled with embers, falling to smoldering pieces. Michael shook out his hands, flexing his fingers and twirling his wrists. The King touched the band around his head as well, and it softened, the metal coming apart where the King touched, easily lifted away.

Michael shut his eyes and took a deep breath. In the distance, there was a roll of thunder.

The King shook his head, bemused. “Go in peace, Michael.”

“Thank you, father.” Michael winced. “I mean, your highness.”

The Burning King smiled. “Either is fine.”

 

* * *

 

They left the grand hall in a hurry, Michael practically dragging Gavin along, holding one of his hands tightly. Outside, it had already started to rain, the clouds massing out of nowhere and flashing with the start of lightning.

Gavin got the idea quickly, and jogged to keep up. There was a balcony nearby, and Michael didn’t hesitate to plant his foot on it. He released Gavin’s hand to kick off into the air, soaring a few feet up and hovering there as rain pelted him, plastering his hair to his forehead and streaking down his face. His smile was manic and bright, and he held out both hands, curling his fingers, coaxing Gavin in.

Taking Michael’s hands felt like the first time all over again. His feet on the ground until they suddenly weren’t and he was hauled up into the wind and rain. He was weightless and impossible, floating up above the main courtyard of the Citadel and listening to it ringing from every raindrop that struck its red crystal walls as Michael drew them up into the air.

The downpour was intense, but Gavin had gotten used to storms. For the first time since he woke up here on Oestret Roethe, he felt safe, and let Michael pull him into his lap. Gavin sat there, comfortable, and toed off his sandals, letting them fall away and wiggling his toes.

“I told you,” he said, wrapping arms around Michael’s neck.

“You told me what?” Michael was smirking.

“You’re coming home with me. I told you I get the things I want.”

His laugh then was wonderful and tasted even better when Gavin kissed him. “You’re spoiled fucking rotten,” Michael accused, meeting him at the corner of his mouth as he went on. “We can come and see Brio when it’s close to hatch time. I can take you around, I know you don’t love the Citadel, but there’s the zephyranthene embassy over the mountains and you never did see the forges like Griffon wanted.”

Gavin hummed. Plans were nice. Making blueprints for their lives instead of letting chaos knock them on their arses, it was a weird luxury that Gavin looked forward to gorging himself on. “We can build that house. I’ll have a lab again, it’d be nice to work on things.”

Michael huffed. “I think my father wants more grandchildren.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Michael Jones.” Gavin, leaning back away from him. “I just got back on my bloody feet.”

“I’ll carry the next one. And we can wait.” His fingers squeezed Gavin’s sides, and there was awe in his voice as he said, “We have time now.”

Gavin looked out over this weirdly little realm that had created Michael. In the distance, the setting sun warred with the grey clouds to put on a colorful show, to little avail. They floated above it all, and Gavin let himself stop worrying, swaying into Michael and resting their heads together.

They had time now.

 

* * *

 

On their last day on Oestret Roethe, Michael woke up and draped himself in steel grey and ochre and red robes instead of his Earth clothes.

“I missed these,” he said quietly as he dressed and cinched everything together. “I might take some back with us.”

“Good idea,” Gavin said. He already planned to steal a few sheets of the metalcloth to use at home. It’d be nice to wear around the house. For Michael, though, he knew it meant more. Some sort of reconciliation between himself and who he’d been. Gavin let himself hope that this was the start of Michael stepping out of the shadow of his past self, something he felt was long overdue.

Gavin got ready himself, doing his own robes this time, having watched Michael set the folds enough to have a basic idea of how to do it. He was just stepping into his sandals when Michael said, “Hold still,” and drew something around Gavin’s neck.

Gavin looked down and laughed. The necklace. It was on a new chain, but the hanging chunk of the Bifrost was familiar. “How did you get it back?”

“Narvaroth had his session in court, so I was allowed to have the chunk back.” Michael squeezed Gavin’s shoulders and kissed his temple.

“Oh, how did that go? What’s the… verdict and all?” Gavin asked, trying to keep his voice light. It was hard not to feel a curl of tense fear at just the mention of Narvaroth’s name. He had to know, though. He needed the closure if he was going to finally put Narvaroth out of his mind.

“He’s going to be kept in confinement here, under guard for the rest of his days.” Michael’s mouth twisted, unhappy. “It’s-- weird. I thought the King might sentence him to death but…”

“Are you upset he didn’t?”

“No. Maybe.” He shook his head. “It’s easy to say it, that I want him dead for all of the shit he did to us, to everyone else he decided to fuck with, but…”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured. He didn’t understand it precisely; he didn’t have the history that Narvaroth and Michael had, but he could see it hanging over Michael even now. If it were up to Gavin-- he’d want to see him in pain, punishment for what he’d done and almost done, but carrying that out was too much to think about.

More than anything, Gavin wanted to move on and forget Narvaroth as much as he could. Sometimes he wished he had Griffon’s ability to hold grudges and exact revenge, but the idea just sounded exhausting.

He much preferred this, having Michael with him and nudging their shoulders together. “C’mon, you were going to show me the thing before we left.”

“Right.” Michael didn’t hesitate before making for the window and stepping out into the open air, floating casually and turning to grin back at Gavin.

Gavin didn’t know how his boy had survived even a few days without his powers. He rolled his eyes, but stepped out onto the windowsill, letting Michael loop his arm around Gavin and lift him easily, skipping the hallways and courtyards and stairways and crowds to just sail over it all.

He remembered, years ago now, the first time Michael had lifted him and carried him up the stairs to bed and how he wondered aloud if it’d always be like this.

It was a nice thing to grow used to, wrapping his arms loosely around Michael’s shoulders and looking around, taking in the sight of the world from above, as comfortable thousands of feet in the air as he was with his feet flat on the ground.

They touched down outside of the Citadel, outside a tall, stone wall with a great stone door carved with a tree. There was writing around the archway that Gavin still could not read, but that was fine. He already knew what the important thing was; this was Brio’s garden.

The gate was closed, and Michael made no move to approach it. “It’s filled now. No one will be allowed in until everyone’s hatched.”

“What if they had a _really_ big hammer?” Gavin asked, then caught the look Michael gave him, sharp and worried. “I’m joking, love, relax.”

“If you wanted-- if we asked the King, I _am_ still his son and there were some fucking extenuating--”

Gavin reached up and covered Michael’s mouth with his hand. “Stop. Stop worrying about random bollocks.” Behind his hand, Michael nodded, and he lowered it again. “We’ll come back.”

Michael nodded again. “Soon.”

That didn’t mean they just turned around and left. Gavin stood there, looking up at the garden walls, thinking of the empty wicker basket at home laid with the little knit things Michael had made. They should bring them, he decided. Maybe they weren’t fancy metalcloth, but they would keep Brio warm on the brisk cool nights of Oestret Roethe all the same.

But that was for another day. Today, Gavin drank his fill of the garden before turning away.

He would be back.

 

* * *

 

He’d almost forgotten about Ryan Haywood.

When they were packing their meager collection of things to take home with them (admittedly, mostly just robes and some of those little round fruit things that Gavin really enjoyed), a messenger came to Michael and handed him a silver tube. Michael thanked the messenger, sending them away before sitting on the windowsill and opening the strange high tech scroll. His eyes flicked over the surface for just a moment before he snapped it shut again. “Captain Haywood’s staying on Oestret Roethe,” he announced.

Gavin looked away from the mirror, where he’d been trying to gather all his hair into the metal clip that amaranths used. Really, hair ties were just so much easier; were amaranths allergic to simple things? Did it all have to be glass and metal? Honestly. “How’s that work, then?”

Michael’s lips curled. “The King’s idea of poetic justice. Haywood wanted to keep people like him here, where they fit into the crowds and weren’t so strange. So, Haywood is going to be supplied with a home here and a job in the orchards. Normal stuff.” He shrugged one shoulder, tossing the tube on a table, the contents already unimportant. “After all, people like him don’t belong on Earth, right?”

“Aren’t you worried he’s going to cause trouble?”

“Nah. They’ll keep an eye on him.” Michael stood up and walked over to Gavin, taking the clip from him and combing his hair back, taking over. “Are you okay with that?”

Gavin tipped his head back, letting Michael take care of his hair, thinking about it. He really didn’t feel much at all. That was thing about having buckets of fear and despair dumped on him for the last few days; it felt like he’d overworked the thing in him that had strong emotions about it all. There was nothing left in him to be angry or vindictively pleased, or anything except relieved the storm had passed. “I think,” he said after a while, “that life on another planet might be good for him.”

“It does wonders for perspective, I can tell you that.” Michael finished with a kiss to the back of Gavin’s neck. “Are you ready to go, then? It doesn’t have to be now, if you don’t want.”

Gavin gave it a moment of consideration. Oestret Roethe was like something out a dream, but it wasn’t home. It wasn’t even that almost-home that he’d had for two years when he and Michael had lived in hotel rooms and flats and sometimes really nice rented cars around the world. It wasn’t his home and Gavin thought it wasn’t Michael’s anymore either.

A nice place to visit, at best. And then, only when he remembered to bring some bloody earplugs.

“Let’s go,” he said, picking up his bag. “Geoff and Griffon’ll be waiting for us.”

They left their room, walking this time, once more down through the main spire of the red crystal Citadel. It was early enough in the day still that when it sang with the steps of the many lives it held, Gavin listened, finally appreciating it. He had enough distance now to see it for what it was, an empire built from glass and song with an eternal starfield on its horizon.

Gavin set foot on the Bifrost, walking along to the great gold dome waiting at the end. Around his neck, his pendant hummed, glowing even through his clothes. He caught the chain with one finger and pulled it loose; it was bright enough to be difficult to look directly at, making him let out a surprised squawk. Michael chuckled and put two fingers against it, pressing and dragging along the pendant. It calmed under his command, back to a less blinding brightness.

At the door to the gate house, Geoff and Griffon were propping up the walls. Geoff looked like he always did, calm and a bit sleepy. He looked like a tourist, wearing his Pixies tee under a lazily draped robe. Griffon, though, still looked ready to revolutionize about seven different technological fields, her arms full of copper tubes, so many she had four clenched in her one free hand just to carry them all.

“Holy shit,” Michael said. “How?”

“I’m Griffon goddamn Ramsey is how,” she told him with a smirk. “Ye of little faith. Ramseys get the things they want.”

“So I keep hearing. If I get convicted of treason again because of you, I’m not going to be happy.”

“Yeah, you didn’t really mention that, did you, sparky?” Geoff said laconically. “The whole thing with the trial that was gonna decide your fate and all.”

“Or the fact that we’re going to have to fucking commute to another planet to see Brio now,” Griffon added.

Michael ducked his head, and did that half-shuffle behind Gavin he always did when the Ramseys were upset with him. Gavin sighed loudly. “The thing with Brio was my decision, it was for the best, and you’ll be able to spoil them just fine, I’m sure. If Michael’s father doesn’t beat you to it.”

“I do love competition,” Griffon said. “But-- Geoff, make yourself useful.” She handed over her tubes to him, piling them in Geoff’s arms until hers were free. Unencumbered, she took Gavin’s face in her hands, pressing his cheeks in with her thumbs. “We’re here for you, but you have to tell us these things.”

“I know,” he said, leaning into her touch. “M’sorry.”

She smiled and kissed his forehead. Beside her, Geoff lifted his eyebrows. “Did you shove all your shit onto me just so you could smush Gav’s face?”

“You’re my husband, it’s your job to carry my shit.” She kissed him next, a peck on his whiskery cheek. “Come on, let’s get home. I don’t even want to know the state the company is in at this point.”

Geoff groaned loudly. “My next two months are going to be one long fucking meeting.”

Gavin grinned and swayed into Michael. “And we’ve got a house to build, don’t we?”

The slow bloom of a smile on Michael’s face was beautiful, the hopeful light in his eyes spreading to the curve of his lips, red and inviting. Gavin kissed him, because he could, every day for the rest of his life if he wanted to. Around them, a cool drizzle of rain began to fall. Distantly, Gavin heard Griffon say something frantic about the tubes and not knowing if they were waterproof, but it seemed far away from the place he stood with his lips pressed to Michael’s.

“Boys! Come on, you can do that later!” Griffon called to them. They separated, long enough to walk into the golden dome. There was an amaranth there, holding a heavy metal quarterstaff. Once they all were within the gate house, they set their staff into the dais in the middle of the room.

Around them, the dome let out a metallic, electric groan. It spun, picking up phenomenal speed in seconds, and the hair on Gavin’s head stood up at the energy it generated. He stepped away from the walls, and Michael held his hand tightly, comforting and warm against his skin.

The rainbow light grew steadily and a pathway opened before them, fired across the universe.

Together, all of them walked through, following it back to Earth.

And when they finally stepped back onto familiar ground, it was raining, falling soft and cool upon their return. Gavin shut his eyes and tipped his head back to let it run down his face, licking his lips and tasting home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats, you have just finished a 200,000 word four-part series.
> 
> I would appreciate it if you clicked next chapter and read the final author's note. I promise there will be links to many, many goodies there.


	14. Final Author's Note for Series

After a series that spanned three main stories, an interlude, a ridiculous amount of meta and extra material, and over 200,000 words, I hope you’ll indulge me in prattling on a bit. I’ll make it worth your while.

 The Hunters Initiative started as some jokey casting posts I did with naengdong fucking ages ago. It quickly got out of hand and became a story. I posted the first chapter of an old-fashioned notion a year ago today. I still blame Cass for it all.

 I have no idea how it turned into such a Thing. A year of my life has gone into this, as well as months of my betas’ lives and at least a few hours of my readers’ lives. That’s mind-boggling to think of.

 

I don’t want to make this into a fucking Oscar acceptance speech, but I really do need to thank a few people.

 

  * Thank you to fuckyeahdiomedes, who gave Ray his villain name and thus enabled me to make him into a fully fledged character.
  *  Thank you to Nessa and Nissa for being some of my early sounding boards and betas, along with creeperbanjo, who I believe beta’ed a few chapters for me.
  *  Chai, thank you for your pre-reading. When I was so deep in BWOA that I could not see the story from any objective standpoint, you provided that perspective. It was a huge help, thank you.
  *  Toby, though. Toby, thank you for being such a huge part of this story. It has your fingerprints all over it, smudging my imperfect writing into something better. Thank you for teaching me about action scene momentum and for waving Palahniuk in my face even as I hissed and clawed at you. You and me are going to take the world by storm with the Bingo AU, baby.
  *  Summer, though. Summer, if I dedicated this series to anyone, it’s you. Your feedback and the way you caught all of my unsubtle foreshadowing and symbolism, the way you and I sat down for hours and decided to make the babyegg thing happen, and the way you reacted to everything. The story was for you all along and I hope you liked it. I hope to continue to write for you because you are the hyper-vigilant deep reader that a writer dreams about. Thank you.
  *  Thank you to everyone who was inspired by this series. If you made me fanmixes, thank you, I probably used them as my writing soundtrack for _make the new street yours_ and _begin the world over again_ , they were genuinely helpful and inspiring.
  *  If you made fanart, holy god, thank you, I am completely honored. I have pages of work and I will link all of the ones I can find below but jesus christ, you have no idea how amazing it is to have a small part in other people’s art. Thank you for sharing it with me.
  *  But especially Ben. Ben, who literally illustrated MTNSY in a notebook that sits next to my bed, who was immeasurably important to the visual design of the series, who helped the series **_have_** a fucking visual design. Thank you for the garden and for Michael in his punky storm god gear and for making Gavin’s ponytail a thing. My only regret is that I didn’t write you more alien porn.
  *  Dexanari, dude, thank you for getting involved and helping expand on the alien biology. Thank you for naming the amaranthine and thus making BWOA possible. I am sorry I never wrote the thing about Michael’s slick getting alcoholic when he’s drunk, maybe someday.
  *  Oh, man. Shout out to the anon who suggested taking Michael’s IRL tendency to sing a lot and integrating it into RTvengers!Michael. You, with one anon comment, helped direct the development of Oestret Roethe in a big way.
  *  And, more solemnly, thank you to the people who will go unnamed who helped me out financially when things were bad for me. Thank you to people who used the tip jar on my tumblr or who offered to just buy me a pizza when I was strapped for cash, all of it. I literally would not have made it through this year without your help and I am eternally stunned by the generosity of you all. Every time I see something new in my tip jar, it’s the same shock all over again. I hope someday to pay forward even a fraction of that kindness.



 

Okay. Okay. Would you all like some goodies now? I am going to ATTEMPT to catalog as much derivative work I received for this series. I will miss some things, simply because even I, a fairly vigilant tagger, have misplaced stuff. If you don’t see your contribution here, please feel free to let me know with a link and I will add it. (For example, some of the first art I ever got, from tumblr user vavman, I cannot locate. So, really, lemme know if you don’t see your stuff here.)

 

_**Fanart Round-Up:** _

**finitefreefall/stretchmarxist:**

  * [Gavin going down on Michael’s wiggly bits because why not](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/63711776982/)
  * [The Enormous Sketchbook Of RTvengers Designs and MTNSY Illustrations](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/68641649183)
  * [gavin and michael’s tattoos](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/65088105949)
  * [close-up of gavin’s QR code tattoo](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/65085274639)
  * [chibi cuddly boys](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/71133035272) (was my desktop for ages)
  * [Ben Makes Ponytail Gav Look Good](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/73700811183)
  * [NSFW wiggly blowjob and Gavin’s ponytail](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/74916234664)
  * AU of the AU: [Gavin in Iron Man gear hot dang](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/81558299467)
  * [Young Kapelle and Nocthem](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/83923676913)
  * [the gorgeous painted clutch garden Ben did on commission from me](http://stretchmarxist.tumblr.com/post/86454287388)



**desirecomes-desirefades:**

  * [Gavin circa BWOA, looking DEVASTATINGLY handsome in his ponytail](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/86566545670)
  * [Gavin and Michael having a floaty kiss](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/86599478405)
  * (ETA 2 June) [The Burning King and Queen Jinx hot dang](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/87599691540)
  * [a fucking STUNNING 'final shot' for BWOA, click this, click it now](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/87600155655/desirecomes-desirefades-may-our-legends-live)



**chailattemusings:**

  * [Gavin reading up on music theory](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/80533358718)
  * [flying boys~](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/79110519460)
  * [Michael having is fly-about while Gavin is napping in BWOA](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/82324833013)



**eatmywarpsparkles:**

  * [Thor-inspired Mogar design!](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/82266606072)



**attachedtothebevs:**

  * [Geoff in the Iron Man suit aw yeah](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/65088831085)



**_Other Inspired Works:_ **

lonelylinguist, a phenomenally talented person, contributed extensive notes on what Amaranthine would sound like and the structure of the language. Their essay was linked earlier in BWOA, but I will [link again here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1uuVHbkXv3HyAxIxXUgddtBo7Gp0SWdjA0LlydyWQexA).

[textsfrom-oestretroethe](http://textsfrom-oestret-roethe.tumblr.com/), which provided me and my betas with much needed laughs while we were neck deep in BWOA. 

roseemyrs created [a fucking great story photoset for R&H](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/84575554540)

dormilonaluna wrote [some interesting Narvaroth meta](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/80726100076) halfway through BWOA (which Toby and I cackled gleefully over) 

 

_**FANMIXES:** _

**(special shout out to people who made fanmixes, I genuinely used them to help me write, thank you for making them)**

[**the ratio of freckles to stars**](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/73750775084), from dicklark

 **[people like us](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/76011257303)** , from dormilonaluna

[ **the ruse and the caper**](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com/post/75974887976), from ymirjotunn (and I will be frank, this one was the writing mix for at least half of BWOA) 

skyebird did mixes for both [**OFN**](http://8tracks.com/skyebyrd/an-old-fashioned-notion) and [**R &H**](http://8tracks.com/skyebyrd/the-rattle-and-the-hum), thus introducing me to Twenty One Pilots.

 

_The Official Soundtracks for The Hunters’ Initiative, curated by yours truly:_

  * [**an old-fashioned notion**](http://8tracks.com/lucyzephyr/an-old-fashioned-notion)
  * [**the rattle and the hum**](http://8tracks.com/lucyzephyr/the-rattle-and-the-hum)
  * [**make the new street yours**](http://8tracks.com/lucyzephyr/make-the-new-street-yours)
  * (posted new today) [**begin the world over again**](http://8tracks.com/lucyzephyr/begin-the-world-over-again)



  
I’m not gonna say “I think that’s everything” because I know it’s not. I’ll try to add more as I find it. Damn me for not starting a dedicated tag for this stuff way back when.

But this is it. I may tell you all a little more about the lives of Michael and Gavin, just a few more details from their futures, but that’s not for today. Today, I am going to relax and take a little while to enjoy having at least temporarily closed the book on this series.

I still have one more story to tell this fandom. Well, Toby and I both have a story to tell you. It’ll be called even in another time, but its friends call it The Bingo AU. If you want to keep up to date on that and the other projects I get myself into, my tumblr is donotchoosesidesyet.

Thank you for reading.


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